


Static

by peridot_tea91



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Canon Related, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Health Issues, Panic Attacks, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective Sam Winchester, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2019-08-19 02:07:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 52,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16525241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peridot_tea91/pseuds/peridot_tea91
Summary: Chelsea has had a lonely and mundane life.  No family or friends, she spends most of her time painting or drawing, and binge-watching Netflix. After getting laid off (again), Chelsea hauls off to the mountains for a weekend retreat only to have an accident and finds herself in the Supernatural Universe!! Is it all inside her head or is this her new reality? How did she get here and does she even want to return home?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I will post a new chapter theoretically every weekend, beginning 11/04/2018, and it will flow w/ and around some canon beginning in Season 11. Its also posted on Tumblr (there are pics and gifs mixed in w/ that version). This is my first posted piece so please be gentle? Thanks!

 

    

Reality really bites. Society is a train wreck, people are trash, and just about everything sucks. But sometimes it's the little things that keep us going: that first sip of a hot cup of tea, the first strokes on a blank canvas, or the smell that lingers in the air right before a fresh snowfall.  Chelsea pensively sipped from her steaming mug, sighing in contentment as the warmth flowed straight to her fingertips.  She snuggled deeper into the rustic armchair, savoring the coziness of the wool and wooden furniture as well as the heat of the gigantic stone fireplace.  Floor to ceiling was covered in distressed oak, with exposed beams, but the large main room wasn't dark, instead being washed in the natural light that the numerous picture windows provided.

Overlooking the expansive Shenandoah Valley, the lodge was a nature lover's retreat. Early November had arrived, bringing with it the vibrant oranges, yellows, and reds of the fall foliage as well as a morning chill.  This was a perfect escape from Chelsea’s infinitely mundane life.  A way to forget the stresses of everyday adulthood as well as the incoming struggles of having just been laid off for the third time this year.  She could certainly use a change of scenery.

The timing couldn't have been more perfect as Big Meadows Lodge would soon be closing until spring, meaning there were fewer tourists to interrupt her stay. The mountain retreat always held a special place in her heart, having spent numerous weekends there with her dad growing up.  Sometimes they would opt for a campsite instead of the lodge, especially when money was tighter, but it had always been a place of relaxation and solitude. Although, even after 13 years it still ached being there without him; there were so many memories, and it was the first time she had been able to run away there since his death.  Since then, relaxation and comfort had been hard commodities to come by.

Taking one final sip of her tea, Chelsea stood with a stretch, listening to the satisfying cracks of her back and wiggling sock-covered toes on the blue spiral rug.  She then pulled her boots on, followed by her army green parka before grabbing her canvas bag full of provisions.  It was supposed to snow later that afternoon, the first of the season, and Chelsea wanted to be able to get a few hours of hiking in before she would need to retreat back to the warmth of the fireplace. They were calling for several inches, not that it mattered anymore really; one of the nice things of being laid off was that there was no longer the rush to get back to a dead-end job on Monday.  She could take all the time in the world, which was admittedly a little sad considering she didn't have any friends or family to go home to either, everyone having died years ago.

Chelsea stepped out to the cold November air, her breath clouding around her face causing her nose to tingle.  The sky was a pristine white, almost begging for someone to paint on it like a fresh piece of canvas, contrasting the stark, rustic, wood and stone lodge.  The surrounding trees all seemed to be aflame with the autumn season, standing proudly with their fiery leaves and dark branches.  The ground was still slightly damp from recent rainfall, causing leaves to stick to the lodge walkway and nearby trail, and stirring up the pleasant smell of wet earth whenever a breeze blew.  She would have to remember to draw it in her journal when she returned from her hike. Strolling forward, she let the natural calm wash over her and continued towards the hiking trail, practically alone save for the stray guest entering the lodge.  Yes, this would definitely be a peaceful weekend.

About an hour and a half later, Chelsea found herself on Skyline Drive, which wasn't surprising considering a lot of mountain trails crossed over roads that had been built after-the-fact.  Forced to traverse the narrow shoulder, she would have to continue roadside for half a mile if she wanted to reconnect with the initial path.  Before long, however, she could feel a shift in the wind as sudden gusts knocked her on the mountainside, and dark storm clouds rolled in. It wasn't uncommon for there to be sudden storms at this altitude but usually, there would be a little bit more warning and this just felt… different.  Static clung to the air, typically indicative of thunderstorms, which was odd considering it was supposed to snow not rain; it was certainly cold enough for snow.  Chelsea paused along the roadside to take in the sudden shift, and uneasy feeling twisting in her stomach.  Crackling and whispers began to fill the air, blending with the creaking of the worn trees as they strained against the wind.  Wet leaves still clung to the inky blacktop in spite of the billowing crests that now threatened to knock her over.  The luscious, warm hues of the trees above rustled together as the wind persisted, shaking remnant water droplets onto her cheeks and eyelashes. The coolness was biting against her skin, flushed from the strain of an already three-mile long hike.

The next few moments happened too fast for her mind to properly comprehend. Chelsea was overwhelmed by a white-hot flash directly in front of her face, a sharp jolt shooting throughout her body, and the feeling like someone had just smashed the back of her head with a mallet.  Suddenly everything felt slow-motion and, for only the tiniest second, Chelsea could have sworn that her feet left the ground.  Then, everything was black.

* * *

 “Gotta love a nice and simple salt-n-burn, eh Sammy?” Dean chirped from the driver's side of the Impala, tapping his hands on Baby's steering wheel in time to the radio. "Bout time an easy gig fell in our laps."

"Yeah, it's almost too good to be true…" Sam scoffed.  It had been months since they had a normal case. Between the fighting angels and demons, the apocalypse, Leviathans, the Mark of Cain, and now dealing with The Darkness, it was about time the Winchesters caught a break. While things seemed to have settled down in the hunt for Amara at the moment, Sam was all the more cautious that something big was happening behind the scenes.  

They had come up to Big Meadows Lodge in Shenandoah National Park to deal with the ghost of a former trail guide.  It had been no problem and only took them a day or so to solve the case.  Most of their time had actually been spent just driving up and down the mountain.  Turned out the guide's death had been an accident involving a bear and some sharp teeth. While no one was actually at fault, his spirit hung around blaming the head tour guide who had sent him on the trail that day.  His soul had been attached to his old hat, so once they torched it, the ghost vamoosed and everything went back to normal.

"Hey! Hey! Don't look a gift horse. We've earned something easy and quiet!"

"Since when has  _anything_  in our lives been ‘easy and quiet,' Dean?"

"Look let's just be grateful, alright? The Mark is gone, things have settled down with the demons, Amara has gone off the grid... Let's take it while we can." Dean could understand his brother's trepidation.  Hell, he knew deep down in his gut that he should be concerned too, but he wasn't quite ready to head down that rabbit hole to who-knows-what. The whole ‘releasing The Darkness’ weighed heavily on Dean’s mind, but unfortunately, there was nothing they could do about it at the moment. 

"Hey, we should stop at that roadside place once we get off this mountain!  You can get your weird healthy shit, and I can get me so fresh baked apple pie!  Love me some pie!"  Dean gushed. Sam could only huff out a laugh at his brother's antics.

"Ya know you could probably stand to eat more apples.  You’re not getting any younger.”

"Exactly!  No point in changin’ my ways now! Lots of pie!” Dean smirked, wiggling his eyebrows and eliciting a snort from his younger brother.  Dean glanced back at the road just in time for a flash of white to almost blind him as a young woman was thrown out into the middle of the road from seemingly nowhere.

"DEAN!" Sam braced himself against the car door, and bench seat as Dean slammed the brakes, causing the Impala to skid and slightly fishtail.  Finally, they stopped with a lurch, mere inches away from the young woman.  Scrambling out of the car, the boys rushed to where she lay in the middle of the road, burns covered her face and abdomen where her coat wasn't zipped, and patches of her clothing were still smoking.  Her thick brown hair was fanned out around her head, some of the ends looking as if they had been burned as well, and her eyes were rolled both in her head, mouth slightly agape.

"Hey, are you alright!?" Sam gently jostled her, almost afraid to touch her in her current state.

"Dude what the fuck was that!?" Dean grunted, trying to regain control of his breathing after the near heart attack he had in the car.

"I don't know! Shit, she's still smoking…" Sam responded, gently turning her limbs to inspect her.

"You could say she's smoking hot even," Dean quipped with a half-assed smile, still out of breath.

"Seriously, Dean!?" Sam glared at his older brother who just shrugged awkwardly. He seriously needed to work on his timing.  Before anything else could be said, the woman let out a choking noise and began gasping for air, body tensing and limbs locking in place.

"Shit, grab her!  We gotta get her some help!"  Sam scooped the mystery woman off the damp road top and hurriedly slid her into the back seat of the Impala before getting in himself.  Dean floored it down the mountain as fast as he could, rushing to get to the nearest hospital which, unfortunately, was a bit of a drive.   He had to be careful around the slick turns unless he wanted to propel them off the side of the mountain, glancing back at the strange woman via his rear-view mirror every few minutes.

So much for things finally getting easier…


	2. Chapter 2

Chelsea slowly started to come to, though her eyes remained closed in defiance of the bright lights that burned behind her eyelids.  The air on her arms was slightly chilly but everywhere else was warm.  Slowly regaining control of her senses, Chelsea noted that a soft fabric was draped over her legs and could hear a faint beeping coming from her left.  To top it all off, everything just smelled so… clean.

‘ _Ah fuck, I'm in a hospital._ '

Chelsea scrunched up her nose in disgust and begrudgingly opened her eyes.  The walls and ceiling were a sterile white, paired with a grey and black speckled linoleum floor.  A small purple sofa that looked like it belonged in a dorm room sat beneath the large window, wedged against the corner bathroom.  The combination of cold air and hospital smell made her nose burn, but at least the blankets and dressing gown were cozy.

The more conscious Chelsea became, the more she realized exactly how much searing pain she was in. Practically everything hurt from top to bottom, especially her joints, and she had a splitting migraine that was beginning to work its way to her forethoughts.  Her left arm was attached to an IV drip, and bandages covered her extremities, though she wasn't 100 percent as to why.

“I fucking hate hospitals,” she grumbled, growing increasingly restless due to the pain.  Whatever medications they had given her were wearing off, and she was more than eager to get more.  Fumbling about the side of her bed, Chelsea was able to finally locate and push the nurse call button.  Wincing after knocking her knuckles on the bed frame, she not-so-patiently waited for hospital staff to come to her rescue.

Meanwhile, Sam and Dean were down the hall talking to the on-duty nurse.  They donned their fake FBI badges in hopes of her being as cooperative as possible in giving them intel on the mystery woman they almost ran over.

“According to her license, our patient is supposedly Chelsea Elizabeth Walker.  Born December 6th, 1985, blood type O positive, five-foot-six…”  The nurse trailed off, giving the two men a look that said she didn’t entirely believe it.

“Supposedly?” Dean questioned, brows furrowed

"Well, according to the medical records, your girl died in a car crash roughly 13 years ago.  If it weren't for the fact that we also have a matching picture on file, I would say you're looking at identity theft, or a dead woman rose up from the grave." She responded matter-of-factly.  Sam and Dean exchanged confused looks, holding a silent conversation.  They were abruptly interrupted by the sound of the nurse's pager going off in alarm.  "Looks like she's awake.  Shall we?"

As the nurse walked away, Sam and Dean lingered briefly so she wouldn’t overhear them.

“Dude, what the hell?

“I don’t know, man.”

“Seriously! What the hell!?” Dean flailed at his younger brother.  Sam sighed and shrugged in response.

“Think it’s another zombie thing like during the apocalypse?” Sam questioned, walking towards the room the head nurse had disappeared into.

“God I hope not... I’ve had enough of the walking dead” Dean retorted, crinkling his nose at the memory of being trapped in a closet with Bobby while the recently resurrected of Sioux Falls tried to devour them.   Once was more than enough for him.  “Just when Amara goes quiet we get this shit…”

"Hey, I told you, Dean. Since when is anything easy for us?”

“Yea, yea, shut up.”  The Winchesters stopped in the doorway to Chelsea’s room, watching as the nurse helped her sit up properly and began checking her vitals.

“Glad you’re awake.  How are you feeling, Ms. Walker?”

“OW.” Clearly, she was disgruntled by the situation.  Anytime the nurse made her move, even the slightest, she winced in pain.  The face she had made in response had reminded Dean of grumpy cat, and he couldn't help the quiet huff of air he let out in amusement.

"Well, some pain is to be expected.  One a level of 1-10, how bad would you say it is?" the nurse soothed as she swapped out Chelsea's IV bag for a fresh one and began to take her blood pressure.

“100. Everything hurts like hell; my head feels like it got used for batting practice, and just- ugh” Chelsea cringed, throwing her head against the pillows in frustration at the amount of hurt she was in.

"Alright well, we'll go ahead and up your morphine levels.  I'm gonna get Dr. Davis in here to—" Chelsea didn't hear any more of what the nurse was saying, having just noticed the two flannel-clad figures hovering in the doorway.  She instantly recognized the two men and shrank back into the corner of her hospital bed in disbelief, eyes wide and brows furrowed.  Sam and Dean gave each other confused glances at her reaction towards them.

“So, what exactly do you remember, Ms. Walker?” the nurse inquired, still having some reservations that Chelsea was who her ids claimed her to be.

"I uh- I was hiking along Skyline Drive and uhm… there was a flash and uh, why-why am I here!?" she snapped as she turned her attention from the Winchesters back to her caregiver, anger, and panic beginning to set in.  Chelsea absolutely hated hospitals.  The last time she went to a hospital she woke up from a two-week long coma only to find out that she was all alone in the world.  Not even three days later she had been promptly booted before being fully recovered due to a sudden lack of health insurance, resulting in her getting an infection.  In her mind, nothing good came from the supposed wellness facilities.

"You were struck by lightning, causing you to go into cardiac arrest.  You're fortunate these two agents were passing through."  She patiently nodded towards Sam and Dean, apparently accustomed to such outbursts.

“I was what!?” Chelsea asked in shock.  It indeed explained the unbearable amount of pain she was in, and why she had been bandaged up.

“Mhmm. Apparently, it sent you flying across the road.  Now we've treated your burns and road rash, but you're gonna have to take it easy a few days until we get back the results of your x-rays and scans.  Dr. Davis will be able to explain more when he comes in but try not to overexert yourself or get too worked up.  We’re not sure yet what kind of toll this has taken on your heart.  Those two FBI agents are the ones who brought you in, after almost running you over.”  Chelsea’s head began to spin at the information.  That’s the second time she’s walked away from a near-death experience.  After hearing the nurse’s statement regarding the two men in the doorway, she shifted her attention back to them.

‘ _Pfft agents my ass!  What are they playing at?  Pity the sick girl in the hospital?  I’m not stupid; I’d recognize those two anywhere._ ’

Chelsea glared at Sam and Dean through narrow eyes, a look of distrust on her face as she tried to figure out what they were up to.  The brothers shifted uncomfortably under her gaze.  It was almost as if she could see right through them.   Sam really hoped she wasn't bitter about nearly getting run over by the Impala.

“I’ll be back shortly. Agents.”   The on-duty nurse nodded politely to the Winchesters as she left, heading towards the nurse’s station so she could update Chelsea’s file and get the required morphine dosage.  Once she cleared the room, Sam and Dean stepped inside towards Chelsea so they could begin to figure out what was actually going on.

“Ms. Walker,” Dean greeted, his voice deep and commanding, “I’m Agent Plant, this is my partner Agent—”

“Save it.” They didn’t even get their fake badges out before she interrupted, an unamused expression now adorned her features. “I know exactly who you two are and I know for a fact that neither of you are FBI agents.  Besides, his hair and your stubble are no way in line with FBI protocol.”  Chelsea stated bluntly, shuddering in pain as she crossed her arms.  Sam and Dean gaped at her momentarily in shock.  It was rare that someone was able to see through their personas and it put them in a position they really weren’t used to.

“Okaaaay then.   Who do you think we are?" Dean asked cautiously as he returned his fake badge to the pocket of his jeans.  He and Sam exchanged nervous glances before watching her with trepidation.

“Uhm, well, I know that you’re Jensen Ackles and Jared Padalecki.  The stars of Supernatural?”

“What?”

"Oh, crap…" Sam groaned at the sudden realization.  "They're actors from that alternate universe Balthazar sent us to.  You know, the one with the shitty show about our lives?" he huffed in annoyance.

“Oh son-of-a-bitch, SERIOUSLY!?  That soap opera nut and some Polish dude!?"   Dean whined in disgust.  That was undoubtedly one of their weirder mishaps, though Dean did miss being filthy stinking rich.

“Look, I know this probably seems really crazy to you—”

“Uh-huh” Chelsea agreed, skeptically eyeing them both.

“—but we’re really the Winchesters, not those two actors.  That show—”

“and books,” Chelsea interrupted Sam again.

"Oh, for fuck's sake! Those too!?" Dean threw his hands up in exasperation and turned his back to the conversation Sam was attempting to have with her.

“It’s all real.” Sam finally finished, ignoring Dean’s outburst.

“Riiiiiiiight… Y’all have lost your damn minds.”

“Tell me about it,” Dean grumbled, earning him a warning look from his younger brother.  Dean was ready to check out of this situation.

“You honestly expect me to believe that you’re actually the Winchesters and not a bunch of actors?  Seriously?  Are you high?" Chelsea shifted in her bed, grimacing at the pain that came with doing so.   Admittedly she had been a fan of the show for years.  Chelsea knew it was a total work of fiction.  Demons, monsters, hunters—she knew it all was complete nonsense.  Having the two leads from the show in her hospital room trying to convince her it was all real?  She couldn't help but feel insulted.  How delusional did they think she was?

“Look, you can believe what you wanna believe, sweetheart.  But we're not the ones stuck in a hospital after getting struck by lightning and," Dean picked up her chart from the end of the bed, "suffering from anemia, a heart murmur, and mild malnutrition?" Dean looked at her quizzically which resulted in her rolling her eyes.  At a glance, she seemed rather healthy.  Sure, she seemed kind of thin and a little pale, and true, her hair wasn't quite a shampoo-model level, but otherwise, she didn't actually appear too far gone.

“Fine then,” Chelsea continued, electing to ignore the older of the two men, “if you are in fact the honest-to-god Winchesters, and all that supernatural crap is real, prove it.”  Sam and Dean paused and exchanged looks.  They honestly weren’t entirely sure how to go about doing that.  They could try showing her their anti-possession tattoos or their father’s journal, but she would probably just assume they were props and make-up.

“And how do you expect us to do that, exactly?” Dean asked a bit put out.  This was starting to take more effort than it was worth.

“I dunno,” she shrugged lazily and then nodded towards Sam, “You’re the smart one, so figure it out.  Summon your angel boyfriend, or whatever.”  Dean gave her a bitch-face while Sam’s face contorted in thought as he tried to figure out a way to prove they were themselves.  Honestly, summoning Castiel wouldn’t have been such a bad idea if he hadn’t gone radio silent on them, again.

Before either Winchester could respond, there was a knock at the door signaling that Dr. Davis had arrived, thus putting an end to their conversation for the time being.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Walker.  It’s nice to see you awake and alert!  I’m Dr. Davis, the chief neurologist here. I’m told you were struck by lightning…”


	3. Chapter 3

Dr. Davis was an older gentleman, polite and patient as he explained the results of the scans to Chelsea and the Winchesters.  Essentially the lightning jolt triggered an underlying heart condition that had gone unnoticed over the years and briefly shut down her upper respiratory system.  It did cause some second-degree burns and destroyed some of her clothing (much to her dismay about her parka).  The hospital staff wanted to keep her a few days for observation and to monitor her adjustments to the plethora of medications she was being prescribed.  In the back of her mind, Chelsea could hear the ding of a cash register at the idea of the expensive hospital bill she was raking up.  While she knew it would subdue the potentially permanent pain and nerve damage she was suffering, Chelsea was less than thrilled about being prescribed steroids and Oxycodone.

Sam and Dean had migrated to a corner of the room by the door so as not to crowd the doctor and patient but were intent on listening in to the doctor’s findings.  Both Winchesters were absorbing the information Dr. Davis presented and were trying to gauge Chelsea’s responses.  She looked stressed and exhausted, which of course getting struck by lightning and suddenly thrown into a hospital would do that to a person.  Sam couldn’t help but pity her.  She went from hiking in the mountains to being confined to a hospital bed and being told that she would potentially have to take countless medications for the rest of her life.  If they couldn’t repair the now worsened heart condition or ease up the excruciating pain that was presently being aided by morphine, she would have to go on disability and lose a lot of her independence.  Her body was basically becoming her shackles and chains.

Dean, however, had begun to slip out of the conversation and instead turned his attention back to what he read on the medical chart.  The more he watched her, the more he noticed the various signs of malnutrition.  Her skin appeared pale and thin under the fluorescent lighting of the hospital room.  Her eyes, he now saw, didn't just have dark circles around them but were slightly sunken in, though her cheeks barely reflected any hollowness. Her thick brown hair which fell to her lower chest seemed a bit dry though he couldn't tell if that was from the malnutrition or having been fried by mother nature.  At a glance, no one would ever notice the symptoms, unless they purposefully inspected her.

“Now Ms. Walker, I understand that this is a lot to take in, but we do need your assistance on another matter," he began in a calm tone.  He would have to be careful how he addressed her supposed death and missing medical records. "You see we may have a case of mistaken identity and conflicting medical records, so we just need you to verify something to confirm we have the correct file.”

“Um yeah OK. What’s the problem?” Chelsea was having a hard time wrapping her mind around the flood of information that was just presented to her.

“Well, you see we need some verification regarding an accident that you were involved in when you were 17.  Now we have some details on file here, but we would just like to verify the accuracy in case something pops up with your current injuries.”  Chelsea visibly tensed as she clutched the hospital bedding. It may have been a decade since the wreck, but it still haunted her dreams some nights.

He was tap-dancing around the issue, and Sam and Dean knew it.  Then again, how exactly do you explain to someone that they supposedly died and were cremated?  The brothers exchanged a silent conversation from their corner of the room, keen on listening to what she had to say.  Regardless of her answers to the doctor's questions, something strange was going on, and something in their guts told them it wasn't a simple medical mix-up.

"Right, of course. Well, we were, uh, driving home and a, uh, a drunk driver slammed into us.  I remember hitting my window and the dash, but dad had thrown his arm in front of me so I wouldn't go flying through the windshield…"  Chelsea swallowed hard as she started to get lost in the memory. She rarely discussed the crash, opting to instead bury the feelings it stirred up instead.  The heart rate monitor that was attached to her gave a beep, signaling a slight increase in her heart rate, which did not go unnoticed by Sam or Dr. Davis.

“What do you remember about your injuries after the crash?  Do you remember anything about the hospital?”

"Well, I remember having several fractured ribs and a concussion.  I apparently had been in a coma for two weeks afterward but um…. My dad he-he didn't make it."  Chelsea was looking down now, fiddling with the edges of the blanket that covered her lower body.  She avoided mentioning that she had also woken up in her dad's truck only to see his bloodied and mangled body next to her.  Nobody knew precisely how much of that crash Chelsea was aware of, or how it still haunted her.  She didn't want anyone's empty condolences or pity; she just wanted to be left alone.

“So, you were in a coma for two weeks?”  the doctor asked, verifying what she had just told them as he glanced at the clipboard in front of him.

"Yes.  Shouldn't you see that in my records?" Chelsea asked in confusion.

“Well you see here is where we seem to have a discrepancy.  According to the files we have, you didn’t walk away from that accident. According to this, you died at the scene along with your father, and we don’t have any other medical records for you since the accident.”

“Wait, say what?” Chelsea stared at the neurologist like he grew an extra head.  “Clearly I walked away since I’m sitting here talking to you.”

“That’s debatable,” Dean muttered under his breath, earning himself a small nudge from Sam beside him.

“You can understand our confusion and desire to clear up this situation.  Now, have you seen any medical professionals since the time of the accident?”

“Duh!  Of course!”  Chelsea’s head began to spin in confusion.  Today was becoming rougher and rougher by the minute.

“And your name  _is_  Chelsea Walker, correct?  You’ve never gone by any other name besides that?”

“What are you implying exactly?” Chelsea countered, crossing her arms as the heat rose in her face.

“I’m not implying anything, just trying to confirm what we have on file.” Dr. Davis soothed.

"Well, what the hell else would it be?!"

“Why don’t you tell us?” Dean added, watching her with interest.

"Oh, fuck off. I'm not the one having an internal identity crisis," Chelsea snapped back, annoyed with the line of questioning.  The stress of her experience was beginning to take its toll, and she was starting to lose her composure.  "My name is Chelsea Elizabeth Walker.  My parents were Charlotte and Elliott Walker.  I was born December 6th, 1985 at Mercy Hospital in Portland, Maine. Don’t believe me?  Do a damn blood test!”  Chelsea thrust her arm out in defiance, glaring at the three men in the room.

“That won’t be necessary. We took some when you were admitted, per hospital procedure, and are still waiting for the results to come back. We just wanted to ask you personally to see if we could clarify the issue.”  Dr. Davis shot a glance towards Sam and Dean, silently asking for back-up.

“He’s right.  Nobody is accusing you of anything, we’re just trying to figure this out,” Sam stepped in, holding his hands up non-threateningly.

“Shut up!  Why are you even fucking here?!  This doesn’t fucking concern you!!  You’re not FBI agents, you’re not hunters, you’re just a bunch of damn actors!  So just BUTT OUT‼”

Suddenly the monitor started going crazy, showing the sudden spike in Chelsea’s heart rate as she became increasingly distressed.  The whole situation was overwhelming, and she wanted nothing more than to just go home. Her heartbeat had increased to a dangerous rate and, before Dr. Davis could attempt to calm her down, the monitor exploded before them.  Bits of metal and plastic showered the room, pelting everyone within.  Smoke and electric sparks expelled from the machine but surprisingly did not set off the sprinkler system or fire alarm.  Within seconds, several nurses had flooded the room in response to the explosion, pushing Sam and Dean out along with the newly broken equipment.  A new monitor was wheeled in as a nurse administered a mild sedative to Chelsea's IV line.

"What the hell is going on with me!?" Chelsea had curled in on herself on the hospital bed, knees at her chest while her hands clutched her hair.  The events of the day had finally taken their toll, and she began to shut down, feeling like everyone was playing a cruel joke on her.

"Dude what the hell was that!?" Dean hissed at Sam as they watched from the hallway.  The on-duty-nurse had come in and was attempting to soothe Chelsea while the sedatives slowly kicked in.

“I don’t know!  Think it’s another thing like with Anna? Doesn’t know she’s an angel?” Sam asked in confusion.

“Maybe?  Explains the weird exploding shit.”

"Well, wait… She said she remembered waking up in the hospital after being in a coma.  That sounds more like one would be possessing her and angels aren't exactly terrific actors.  Just look at Cas!"

"Yea true shit," Dean nodded in agreement as Dr. Davis walked towards them from Chelsea's room.

"Gentlemen. I think it would be best if you came back later after she's had time to properly settle in and recover a bit.  She's currently in no condition to answer any more questions." Sam and Dean nodded in agreement as they looked past him at Chelsea, who was now laying on her side away from them.  

"Thank you, doctor. Please keep us posted when she improves." Sam requested as he walked away with Dean.

"Guess now we gotta scrape up as much info about that accident 13 years ago," Dean suggested as they reached the elevator.

"You go ahead, I wanna check out the local news reports. Something's been bugging me about that lightning strike."

"Oh? Like what?"

"Lightning can't happen without clouds, but the sky was perfectly clear when it happened.  Plus, there were no char marks on the ground. If it weren't for the flash and her suddenly getting thrown in front of the Impala, we never would've known it happened."

"Shit just gets better and better," Dean responded with a sigh and shoved his hands in his pockets.

While the Winchesters made their way out the hospital, Chelsea lay in her hospital bed with her mind reeling from the day's events.  She found out she was struck by lightning, would have to possibly be on steroids for the rest of her life, had the actors from Supernatural suddenly show up and try to convince her that they were actually the Winchester brothers, and was told that she died at age 17 from a crash she remembers walking away from. Her entire world just got flipped. She refused to believe anything without further proof.

' _Medical records get switched all the time, right? Especially when they have the same name. And birthday. And early medical history... Riiiiiiiiight._ '

Chelsea tried to logic the situation but failed miserably.  There was too much stuff matching up for it to be a simple medical swap or a coincidence.  Now that she was calm thanks to the sedatives, and the two supposed hunters had left, Chelsea knew that she would have to sort this out for herself.  Only one option came to mind: she was going to have to see her own grave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading guys! Please let me know any feedback or comments so I can get an idea of how your feeling so far. In the next few chapters, things will pick up and we'll see some favorite SPN characters.


	4. Chapter 4

Chelsea waited patiently for the sedatives to wear off before making her move.  It was now late evening, and most of the hospital staff had gone home; the perfect opportunity to escape unnoticed.  After switching off the heart rate monitor and carefully removing her IV, Chelsea grabbed the remnants of her clothes.  Her paint-covered jeans were a little worse for wear but luckily were still passable with holes and scorched areas giving them a more distressed look.  Her black and grey Henley was practically unscathed, but her parka was trashed. Bits of stuffing were now sticking out in places while the left arm and back were shredded completely, most likely from her getting dragged against the concrete.  She would have to stop by the hospital lost and found if she hoped to brave the cold and snow flurries.

Chelsea dressed quickly before darting to the bathroom, checking for anything useful she could take with her.  Her only finds were a toothbrush and toothpaste that the hospital provided her, but she'd take what she could get.  Closing the mirrored cabinet above the bathroom sink, Chelsea finally got a good look at herself for the first time since being admitted.  Her thick, earth-colored hair had become a rat's nest of tangles with her bangs sticking at odd angles, lacking the shine and vibrancy it once had.  Her pine and honey eyes now held a heavy dullness to them, devoid of the brightness and sparkle her father used to love.  Never had she looked so unhealthy, and it discouraged her greatly.  In high school, she had begun to develop curves and was admittedly quite beautiful, though she never really cared as she was busy being covered in paint and charcoal.

Things had been rough after her father's death, but somehow Chelsea always managed to scrape by.  Well, that was until someone broke into her apartment early last year and stole her life's saving and some of her mother's jewelry. They were able to recover the more important pieces, but the money was gone for good.  Ever since then, everything just seemed to go downhill; her car was broken into and then broke down, keeping up with the bills became damn near impossible, and there were some days where she didn't eat.  It was so different when she was in high school where she would become so enamored with a new art project that her dad had to forcibly remind her to stop and eat.  Now there were days when she didn't know where her next meal would come from, which had now reached an unhealthy point after being laid off numerous times. Sometimes it honestly felt like the universe was just molly-whopping her in the face with its dick.

Shaking her head, Chelsea returned to her task and began digging through the bedside tables.  She was able to locate the accessories she was wearing when she was struck, but otherwise, the search proved fruitless. Grabbing her charred canvas pack, Chelsea peeked out into the hallway to make sure the coast was clear.  

She crept noiselessly down the corridor to where she hoped the stairs would be.  Chelsea's body still felt stiff from earlier, but thankfully the morphine was keeping the pain at bay.  Everything in the hospital was quiet save for the buzzing of the fluorescent lights above and the sound of her heartbeat thumping loudly in her ears.  She tip-toed along, praying that nobody crossed her path as she passed the nurse's station and elevators.  Finally, she reached a back stairwell and traversed down to the first floor, which spits her out just across from the hospital lost and found.  Unfortunately for her, pickings were slim, and the bin was practically empty except for a pair of shorts, a lone sock, and several pairs of sunglasses.

Chelsea rounded the corridor and reached an emergency exit that led to the rear parking lot of the hospital.  Maneuvering the door as quietly as possible, she slinked out the building and rapidly made her way across the mostly empty parking lot to an old Chevy pickup that caught her fancy.  Giving one last look around to make sure she was alone, Chelsea easily broke into the truck and sparked it to life; she hoped into the driver’s seat without hesitation and sped off towards the main road.

* * *

It had been hours since Sam and Dean had left the hospital and the then hysterical Chelsea Walker. They dug relentlessly in every database they could only to have everything match what the hospital had on file—drunk driver struck and killed both her and her father on impact the night before her 18th birthday.  But everything she rambled on about in the hospital made no sense.

“So, what?  We thinkin’ time travel?”  Dean asked as he popped the cap off another beer.

“No, she wouldn’t have aged if that were true, and she looks around my age,” Sam answered as he pondered. “She mentioned those two actors from that alternate universe where they had that crappy show about our lives… Maybe she’s from there?”

“OK, then how did she get here?”  Dean conceded as he sat across from his brother at the small motel room table. This whole situation honestly made his head hurt.

“A spell?  Would explain the lightning,” Sam offered with a shrug.  Before Dean could reply, his phone starting ringing from his jacket pocket.

“Yea go ahead… She what?” Sam shifted in interest.  As Dean listened to whoever was on the phone, an annoyed expression crossed his features and he pinched the bridge of his nose.  “Alright, we’ll be right there.”

“Let me guess—”

“Yup, we got a runner.” The Winchesters quickly grabbed their jackets and were out the door in a flash.  It took them no time to reach the hospital, where Dr. Davis was awaiting their arrival in the lobby.

“Thanks for getting here so quickly,” the good doctor nodded to both men in greeting.

“Doctor.  Why don’t you tell us what happened?”  Sam asked, nodding in return.

“When one of the nurses on duty came in to check Ms. Walker’s vitals and morphine levels, the bed was empty, and her belongings gone.”  Dr. Davis led the two men down the hall towards the security office.  “I took a look at the hospital footage, and it looks like she snuck out late last night.  See for yourself."  Sam and Dean crammed inside the small office where one of the hospital's guards already had the footage ready for review.  Sure enough, there she was, sneaking out an emergency exit at 10:13pm.

“Do you have any ideas where she might have run off to?”  Dean asked with a sigh.

“Well based on yesterday I would suggest maybe the gravesite where her father is buried?”

"Alright, we'll double check our files and head from there.  Thank you, doctor."

Sam and Dean exited the security office and bid goodbye to Dr. Davis, who had no choice but to return to his other patients.  Sam and Dean quietly exited the hospital, neither of them speaking again until the reached the Impala.  

"So, do we even know where her dad was buried?" Dean asked, stopping as he opened the driver-side door to look at his brother.

"Yep," Sam responded with a pop, "Maine."

* * *

Chelsea sped along I-95 north as her brain continued to spin.  She struggled to put everything together; between the two men claiming to be the real deal Sam and Dean Winchester and the doctor dropping the bomb on her that she had died, nothing made sense.  She knew Supernatural was a fictional show.  She remembered clear as day waking up minutes after the wreck and seeing her father’s corpse in the truck next to her and remembered waking up in the hospital two weeks later from a coma.  Another headache started to pulsate, and the morphine had long since worn off. She had stopped briefly for a bathroom break and cheap pain meds, but they did little to help and did nothing to alleviate the increasing grogginess.

She never could understand how her father was able to make the over 11-hour trip from Augusta to Shenandoah without stopping.  Before she was born, he used to do it all the time.  But after he met her mother, and subsequently had her, road trip stops became a necessity.  On the plus side, they did result in some great memories.  This drive, however, she tried to stop as minimally as possible until exhaustion finally won out and Chelsea was forced to pull over at the Madison Service Station in Connecticut.  She had actually been making great time since there was no one else on the highways for the most part, which quickly got eaten up by her rest stop. What was intended to be a quick 30-minute nap turned into a 2-hour long snooze session, leaving her feeling disoriented and hungry.  One hot chai latte, cheapo fast food burger, and gas fill-up later Chelsea was back on the road and officially out of money (again).

The drive through New England was beautiful and nostalgic.  It was amazing how no matter how much time had passed, no matter how long she had been gone, the road back home remained the same.  The drive had become second nature to Chelsea, and she couldn’t help but hum as memories flooded her anxious mind.  After she was released from the hospital and graduated high school all those years ago, the newly orphaned teenager went awol.   In an attempt to put as much distance as she could bare between herself and her now empty home, Chelsea headed south and eventually roosted in Fredericksburg, Virginia.  Admittedly, it had been a culture shock at first, but over the years she had adapted.  By the time she reached 24, she had picked up Southern hospitality, maintained a love for all things L.L. Bean and duck shoes, and developed a fear of hitting anything antlered (she may have hit a moose and a deer or two).

One thing about living in the south was that the weather there could never hope to match the unpredictability of New England’s.  The old Chevy she swiped took a beating from rain, snow, and hail but it was nothing she couldn’t handle at this point. The colder temperatures, however, she realized she was no longer ignorant to after hiding out in the warmth of the south for nearly 13 years.  Being as malnourished as she was also didn’t help in terms of producing adequate body heat. Thankfully, almost as soon as she crossed the Maine border, the weather broke to reveal pale skies, mild winds, and a modest 50-degree temperature.  For once, global warming played in her favor.

Just outside the heart of the capital city was St. Mary’s Cemetery, looking every bit like it belonged in a movie.  The grass was perfectly manicured, the tombstones clean and upright, and the shrubbery well-kept.  Chelsea put the truck in park and took a shaky breath as she mentally prepared herself.  She hadn’t been to her parents’ gravesite since she left and honestly was afraid of what she would see on their headstone.

‘ _This is so stupid!  It's all a mistake.  My name won't be there, the doctor was wrong, and those two whoever-they-were have lost their damn minds.  I'm not crazy.  I'm not dead. I'm right here._ ’

Chelsea attempted to soothe herself before sliding out of the truck with difficulty.  Her entire body hurt, everything was stiff and protesting, and she could feel her head spinning.  She tried to reassure herself that she was getting worked up over nothing and took a step forward.  Her body suddenly felt heavy as she maneuvered through the rows of graves; her heartbeat drumming loudly in her ears only worsening her on-going headache.

‘ _It’s a mistake.  I didn’t die. I’m right here._ ’

Her stomach started twisting itself in knots the closer she got.  Five rows in, three stones away from one of the cemetery trees, her parents' headstone was a decent size.  Chelsea let her fingertips brush against the rough, cold top of the tombstone that contrasted the smooth, polished stone face.  She held her breath as she rounded the headstone, anxiety coursing through her. Her stomach dropped, and she fell to her knees, her jeans and bare skin getting wet from the damp grass and dirt. Tears pricked her eyes as nausea and confusion wracked her.  There were the words etched in stone, clear as day and mocking her:

Chelsea Elizabeth

12/6/1985 – 12/5/2002

Beloved Daughter


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys, this chapter is a lot longer than the rest but it's worth it, I promise!

Chelsea didn’t know how long she knelt there, mind blank in shock and confusion.  Absentmindedly, she let her fingertips trace the fireman’s emblem etched into the headstone.  She had always been proud of her dad being a professional firefighter.  He was brave, strong, dependable, a hero, and her idol. Seeing that crest made her heart both swell with pride and ache with longing.  After waking up from the coma and being released from the hospital all those years ago, Chelsea had run away from the pain and her problems.  Now, here she was, being mocked by words carved into a cold stone slab.

She kept rereading her own name, unsure what to think anymore.  It was all so surreal.  Chelsea wondered if maybe this wasn’t just some horrible dream that her brain had conjured up in response to getting shocked by such a high voltage.

A small gust of wind swept through, causing a chill to shudder through her and goosebumps to prickle along her pale skin.  Suddenly she was all too aware of how cold she was and how much pain her body was in. Chelsea could hear tree branches creaking in the wind along with the loud rustling of grass and leaves.  Even in a lucid dream, this would have been an overload on the senses.  She could feel her heart sink to the pit of her stomach as she started to come to terms with her new reality.

“This is all real, isn’t it?”  Chelsea asked, having felt the presence of the Winchesters behind her.

“Real as it gets, sweetheart.”  Dean stood next to Sam, both men with their hands in their pockets as they watched her, unsure what to make of the current situation.  Chelsea let out a quiet huff in response as her eyes remained glued to the headstone.

“So, what happens now?” she asked quietly as she rubbed her arms for warmth.  Her Henley did very little in terms of locking in body heat, and Chelsea really wished she still had her parka.

“Look, I know this is probably really overwhelming and insane, but for right now, why don’t you come with us? At least until we figure everything out?” Sam persuaded gently.  Chelsea glanced over her shoulder at the tall hunters as she contemplated the offer they presented.  Sam watched her patiently, eyes full of kindness and pity.  Dean, on the other hand, looked as if he was trying to solve her like a puzzle.  An air of distrust rolled off him, although Chelsea could have sworn she saw something else there as well—concern maybe?  With a sigh, she turned back to gaze at the fireman’s emblem once more.

“We’re your best bet, kid,” Dean added, “What else have you got to lose?”

“Literally nothing,” she mumbled sadly with a heavy sigh.  Chelsea went to stand only to almost crumble back to the ground by an intense, shooting pain throughout her body.  Luckily, Sam had caught her before she reconnected, and pulled her up and away from her family’s grave.

“If I’m gonna go with you, then _please_ tell me you have something stronger than Aleve I can take?  That crap did nothing to help me.”

“Don’t worry, we’ve got some pills to tide you over until we can get our friend to heal ya,” Dean answered as he placed a hand on her lower back where her shirt had ridden up.

“Right, Castiel. Sounds good.”

The Winchesters exchanged a quiet conversation above her.  Chelsea couldn’t feel it, but Dean had pressed a silver blade against her exposed skin, as per his and Sam’s earlier conversation.

**Earlier**

_“So, we’ve got a few options here: Shapeshifter, Ghoul, Demon, or she’s actually from an alternate universe.  Honestly, I’m betting on that one…” Sam stated from his usual spot in the passenger seat of the Impala._

_“Yea, well, better safe than sorry right?” Dean chided as he spared a glance at his brother while they flew down the highway._

_“Well, lucky for us both Ghouls and Shifters are weak against silver so we just gotta get her to touch some.”_

_“Yea…” Dean trailed off deep in thought.  He couldn’t quite get her out of his head.  She looked so unhealthy and all those medical problems—heart murmur, anemia, malnutrition—what had this chick been through?_

_Sam couldn’t stop thinking about her either.  From what the doctors had indicated, the strange woman had had quite a few brushes with death.  Hell, that lightning strike should have killed her if she was indeed as ill as they said.  But the biggest concern on the younger Winchester’s mind was how and why was she there?  She had mentioned those two actors from that god-awful alternate universe Balthazar briefly sent them to almost seven years ago.  Did Amara do something? Crowley? Heaven?  Sam’s head began to spin with the possibilities._

**Now**

Once they helped her into the Impala, Sam went to the stolen truck to grab her bag while Dean went into Baby’s trunk.  Grabbing some high dosage pain pills and a bottle of water, he quickly took a swig and refilled it with holy water.  Closing the trunk, Dean climbed into his spot behind the wheel and passed the pills and water to Chelsea.  She downed them immediately while Sam and Dean watched her intently.  Both men let out a breath they didn’t know they were holding when nothing happened.

“Umm…” Chelsea shifted uncomfortably in the back seat of the Impala once she caught them staring.

“Right! So, food?” Dean recovered as he turned around and started the car.

“I uh—I don’t have any money…” she answered quietly while shrinking slightly into the seat.  The action did not go unnoticed by either Winchester.

“Don’t worry about it. Sammy’s turn to buy, right?” Dean grinned as he gave his brother a firm smack on the arm.  Sam gave him an unamused bitchface as he shook his head.

“Just drive. Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

Chelsea couldn’t help the small grin that crossed her lips at the boys’ banter.  It was funnier to see in person if she was being honest with herself.  Chelsea turned and watched out the window as they pulled away from the cemetery towards the city.  Dean silently watched her in the rearview for a moment before turning his gaze back towards the road.  She was so thin; just when was the last time she ate?

The drive into the heart of Augusta was quiet for the most part, save for classic rock softly playing on the radio.  Chelsea nodded along to the music, lost in thought as she tried to fully grasp the idea that this was happening.  She was in the backseat of _the_ Impala and was legally dead, but at the same time not dead?  It was mind-boggling, to say the least.

Dean pulled Baby curbside in front of a small spot called “Downtown Diner.”  The exterior was quaint but inviting with a couple of small tables outside, large windows that brought in ample sunlight, and a bright green awning for rainy days.  The diner’s namesake was embossed in gold letters on two of the four windows. Chelsea didn’t recognize the establishment, but also for the life of her couldn’t remember what had been there prior. Sam and Dean ushered her inside where they were greeted by warmth and the smell of delicious food.  The interior was surprisingly spacious, but cozy nonetheless.  Pictures and old news articles adorned taupe walls, while the wall in the back of the dining area, just before the kitchen, as a vibrant, deep red.  Warm wooden tables that matched the chair rails and wainscoting offered ample seating in neat rows throughout, along with a small counter where patrons could also sit.

The Winchesters navigated Chelsea to a corner table by one of the windows, which she was grateful for. The view outside made her realize exactly how much she missed New England.  Chelsea sandwiched herself between Sam and the wall while Dean sat across from his brother.  Sitting directly next to Sam, Chelsea immediately felt puny, despite being tall for a girl.

“Good mo’ning folks. What can I sta’t you off with?” The waitress was an older woman, with a clear-as-day Maine accent.  She was pleasant and plump, reminding Chelsea of Professor Sprout from Harry Potter.

“Yea, we’ll take two coffees and a—” Dean glanced over at Chelsea, giving her the go-ahead to order what she wanted.

“Hot chocolate please?”

“Coming ‘ight up.”

As soon as the older waitress walked away, an awkward silence fell over the trio.  Sam fiddled with his hands and looked around the diner while letting out the occasional sigh.  Dean played with the napkin holder, almost breaking it when the bottom popped open, which earned him an unamused look from Sam that screamed “ _Really?_ “  Chelsea couldn’t help the soft snort she let out at their antics.  No one was sure how to start a conversation, and the Winchesters were wary about setting her off again after the incident with the heart rate monitor in the hospital.  When the waitress returned with their hot drinks and menus, Chelsea decided to bite the bullet.

“Sooooooo…. The _actual_ Winchesters, huh?  Saving people, hunting things, the family business?”

“In the flesh,” Dean answered as he leaned forward on his forearms.

“So, like, you guys have actually done all that stuff?  Saving the world and whatnot?”  Chelsea asked, looking between the two men.

“Uh, well, that depends on how much you know,” Sam answered cautiously while exchanging an uncertain look with his brother.

“Well obviously I don’t know _everything_ you two have done, but I certainly know a lot.  Like, I know about Stanford, Yellow-Eyes, Lilith, hell, Sam’s demon blood addiction,” Chelsea prattled off rapidly while counting on her fingers, "the Apocalypse, Sam being soulless, Castiel’s angel war-thingy, Leviathans, Purgatory, Sam hit a cute Aussie that he named Riot, the trials, Gadreel, the Mark of Cain, Demon Dean, and now the Darkness.  You know, the major points!” Sam and Dean stared at her like she grew an extra head before looking back at each other.

“Oh, yea, just the major points,” Dean snarked in a mildly high-pitched voice as he pulled a face and sipped his coffee.  If things weren’t uncomfortable before, they certainly were now.

‘ _Oops. Reel it in, Chels. Don’t pull a Becky._ ’

“Like I said, I don’t know every little thing Y'all have done, just the really big things that the tv series emphasized,” Chelsea soothed in an attempt to recover and not sound obsessed.

“Yea, well, all that shit _actually_ happened so…” Dean responded as he pinched between his eyes.  Sam continued to frown at the mug of coffee in front of him that was starting to grow cold.

“So, do you two really act the way they depict in the show?”  Chelsea leaned in, a look of concern on her face.

“Act like what?” Dean asked indignantly, pausing with his coffee cup halfway to his mouth for another sip while Sam gave her a confused look.

“You actually act like a mercurial ass and guilt-trip your pushover younger brother who is so desperate to do good in order to over-compensate for being cursed with demon blood by yellow-eyes that he keeps making bad decisions while you both maintain an unhealthy codependent relationship and carry an unnecessary amount of emotional baggage?  All the while, also acting like ungrateful dicks to those closest to you who love you unconditionally and are willing to look past your obvious and severe character flaws, even though you two would sacrifice them and the planet if it meant saving each other.  Which, honestly, is not something that you used to do and has kind of become your Achilles’ heel, especially considering that you do so while maintaining the lie that it’s for the greater good.”  Chelsea casually took a sip from her hot cocoa and gave the two hunters a pointed look.

Sam and Dean sat wide-eyed with their mouths gaping, looking like startled fish.  Sam returned his gaze to his coffee cup, feeling now both deflated and ashamed.  Dean awkwardly rubbed his neck as he looked down at the table, unsure of what sort of response to give.  Both Winchesters were left reeling after getting called out so abruptly.  It had been years since the boys were giving a good and proper tongue-lashing, yet here was this anorexic-looking chick that they almost ran over the day before doing just that.

“Ahem—after watching you two for 11 seasons, I uh—I have opinions… Sorry,” Chelsea apologized half-heartedly.

‘ _Sorry, not sorry._ ’

“Yea, we noticed!” Dean snapped as he drained what was left of his coffee.

Chelsea hadn’t intended to come off so harshly but faced with her new reality, she didn’t exactly have the necessary filter required for calling the Winchesters out.  Besides, the last person to really put them in their place successfully was Bobby, and he was dead; somebody had to step up to the plate.

“So… uh… You’re from Augusta?”  Sam questioned pathetically in an attempt to diffuse the tension.

"For the most part. I was born in Portland, but we relocated to Augusta when I was two.  Lived there until dad died, and then I headed south.” Chelsea answered, swirling her mug of hot cocoa, “But considering that you’re a boy genius who can hack just about anything, second only to Charlie Bradbury, I’m sure you already knew most of that.”  She looked up at Sam from underneath her lashes, trying not to come off as hostile as she did moments before.

"Well not quite,” Sam answered with an awkward huff, “public records only showed us that your dad was a first responder, where you lived at the time of the accident, and where your family was buried.    The records before then haven’t been uploaded to the server yet, so we weren’t able to pull them.”  Sam finally took a sip of his coffee and cringed.  It was cold.

“Ah, I see.”

While Sam was attempting to smooth the air with Chelsea, Dean had been watching her warily, much like a disgruntled cat.  Her impromptu psych evaluation had rubbed him the wrong way, and he distrusted how much she knew about their lives.  The whole thing made him feel over-exposed.

Moments later, the waitress came back and took their orders (Dean once again gave Sam grief about ordering “rabbit food”).  Chelsea listened to them banter back and forth over their food choices.  It was one thing to see the brothers bicker on tv but in person, it was that much funnier, albeit louder.  Getting squirrely while the boys acted like typical siblings, Chelsea excused herself to the ladies’ room.  As soon as she

 was out of sight, Dean jumped at the chance to talk to discuss her earlier comment.

“Dude, where does she get off acting like she knows us?  She just met us!” Dean hissed across the table.

“Well, yea but don’t forget she also said that she’s watched a huge chunk of our lives on tv.  If anything, she probably knows us better than we do."  Sam responded with a hunched shrug.

"She knows too much.  I don’t like it."  Dean grunted as he scrunched his face into an angry pout, not moving his eyes away from where she disappeared to.

 Sam let out a heavy sigh as he leaned forward on the table and rubbed his temples.

"Look let’s just try and get along with her until we can figure out a way to send her home.”

“Yea yea…” Dean waved off as he leaned back in his seat.  He sat for a moment looking at nothing in particular while he mulled over what the young woman had said.  “We don’t treat everyone that badly, do we? Like, we’re nice and stuff to Jody and Claire and Garth and them, right?”

Sam’s forehead wrinkled at the thought before shaking his head and responding, “No, I didn’t think so…” Chelsea’s comments had made the Winchesters begin to second-guess their own behavior.

“And the, uh, co-dependency thing?” Dean asked with a wave of his hand.

“Well… To be honest, I’ve kinda been starting to wonder about that with how often it keeps getting brought up…"  Sam said with a hint of shame as he glanced up at his older brother.

 "Yea… huh…"  Dean stared pensively at his empty cup.  An uncomfortable silence hung over the table once more as Chelsea’s words really sank in.  Maybe that’s why Dean didn’t like what she had said—deep down, he knew that they held a bit of truth.  Neither Winchester particularly liked getting called out, hell who did?  But it did make them pause when a complete stranger did it.

Chelsea soon wandered back to the table, tugging her jeans up as she went, which did not go unnoticed by Dean, causing him to frown further.  Having lost so much weight in the past few months, what few clothes she had were now at least one or two sizes too big.  She had managed to relatively fix the bird’s nest on her head, which was now covered by a beanie with a fireman’s emblem on it.

No sooner had she sat down did the pleasant waitress come out with a tray full of food.  Chelsea briefly wondered if the older woman had come to the wrong table as there looked like too much food was on the tray.  Dishing out the order, the waitress set an extra plate of fries in front of Chelsea along with another hot cocoa.

"He'e you go, sweetie.  You look like you could use a hot meal.”

“Oh, uhm, thank you…"  Chelsea shifted uncomfortably in her seat as she hunched forward slightly.  She always got uncomfortable when people were overly sweet to her, and wasn’t exactly someone who liked to draw attention to herself usually.  The server gave her a warm, gentle smile and a nod before moseying off to another table.

"So not to bring up more touchy topics like a certain someone, what’s the deal with that anyway?” Dean asked before taking a bite of his bacon cheeseburger.  Chelsea almost choked on her sandwich at his question while Sam watched her expectantly.

“The deal with what?”

“Your health, Chelsea.  I saw your chart and not gonna lie, it raised some red flags.  What exactly is goin’ on with you?”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! I had to rewrite half the chapter and didn't want to submit something that wasn't up to par. Thanks for your patience! Hopefully, I should have everything back on schedule this week.

“What exactly is goin’ on with you?”

Chelsea paused at Dean’s question and momentarily went blank.  She was never one to burden others with her problems or ask for help, so someone genuinely asking really threw her for a loop.

“Umm… well no offense but, why?” Chelsea asked with a confused expression on her face.

“Why what?” Sam asked before taking a bite of his salad and exchanging a glance with his brother.

“Why do you even care?” she responded a little more bluntly than she meant. “You guys are dealing with the darkness, have both started and stopped the apocalypse, and have taken out perhaps the most politically powerful man in existence. So why the hell would you be concerned about the health of some chick you just met?”

“Look, we get it. You’re from some weird alternate universe.  Unfortunately, we don’t know all the details of how you got here, let alone how to send you home,” Sam began, gesturing to him and Dean.

"So, until we figure out who brought you here and why you're stuck with us," Dean interrupted abruptly while taking a large bite from his bacon cheeseburger. "And, if you're gonna hang with us, we need to know what all we’re getting into, starting with your health.”

Chelsea gaped at the two hunters.  This was the first time in years that someone had extended even a modicum of concern for her well-being.  The longer their words sank in, the more Chelsea realized the implications behind them—eventually, they were going to send her back.

“We can’t just let you go off on your own, not in your current condition,” Sam continued, “and especially not while still being in the dark about the whole situation.”

“OK…” Chelsea nodded, “But… What if I don’t want to go home?”  Chelsea glanced up at the two Winchesters from underneath her lashes, bracing herself for any type of reaction they might have.

“What? Why!?”  Dean asked incredulously as he scrunched his nose in confusion.

“Honestly, my life is fucking shit,” Chelsea stated bluntly as she rested her elbows on the table. “Truth is, I’m a nobody with no marketable skills and without even two pennies to rub together.  I have been laid off three times in the past year in favor of someone with a Bachelor’s Degree and more tech-savvy.  I just recently an eviction notice telling me to get out by the end of next week and have moved at least ten times in the past four years.  I can't afford a car, and everything I own of value is in the duffel in the trunk of your car." Chelsea paused and nodded towards the Impala parked right outside. "I have zero friends and everyone I love died by the time I graduated high school.  I have no insurance, so I can't even get basic medications to help with any of my numerous health problems and, oh yeah, I've been struck by fucking lightning."

Sam and Dean took a moment to process what she just told them. Chelsea was virtually the only person the Winchesters knew who could go missing and literally no one would notice.  The brothers were so used to the hunting life that they often forgot about some of the downsides of civilian life.  Neither hunter could help but feel pity for her situation.  It was quickly becoming apparent that she needed help.

“Please tell me you’re exaggerating,” Dean asked after a while, his brow furrowed in concern.

“Nope. Oh, and since you asked, I have chronic fatigue syndrome, anemia, some other vitamin deficiency, get sick kind of often, and get dizzy if I don’t eat or drink something.”

Sam and Dean blinked at her a moment before sharing a sideways glance, uncertain how to respond.  She was basically a walking train wreck, and the task ahead of them just became that much more complicated.

“You, uh, seem to be really calm about all those health issues," Sam noted with a look of concern.  Dean was leaned back in his chair, arms crossed as he observed her.

“Truthfully, I’ve kind of become a little numb to it all.  I’ve had most of these health problems for at least a few years now so at this point I’ve just kind of learned to deal.  Not exactly the healthiest thing in the world but what’s a girl to do?” Chelsea shrugged.  She was right, unfortunately.  Without money or health insurance, there was really nothing that could be done regarding her poor health. “Kind of ironic considering I was healthy as a horse growing up…” Chelsea pondered as she stared blankly at the tabletop.

"Look, Chelsea, I'm really, really sorry.  All of that actually sounds pretty horrible,” Sam started, pulling Chelsea out of her momentary trance. "But, do you honestly think you're better off here?  I mean we're kinda in the middle of Armageddon… Again.”

“Look, I’m not clueless.  I know how to take out all sorts of different monsters, angels, and demons so I can defend myself if I need to.”  Chelsea responded as she leaned back in her chair with a sad sigh.

“Can you?” Sam asked cautiously, concern evident in his voice and expression.

"Yes.  Vampires you behead, but you can also slow them down with a bit of dead man's blood.  Werewolves get taken out by anything silver, they like to feed on human hearts, but there are a few who eat animal hearts instead," she looked at the two hunters pointedly, making it clear that she knew about Garth and Bess, "And they change during either the full or new moon, but purebred lycanthropes can change at-will.  Ghosts and spirits tend to be the easiest things you've faced with the solution being as simple as salt and burn, but sometimes you gotta play a weird game of ‘hide-and-go-boo’ with random tethered objects.  Now, demons you can stab with your fancy Kurdish knife that one of you two carries, I don't remember who… I guess you, Dean?" Chelsea pointed at the older Winchester before crossing her arms and proceeding. "You can also exorcize them with the ‘Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus blah, blah, blah’ thingy that Sam is really good at.  Angels you can either kill with an angel blade, which also works on demons by the way, or you can draw a sigil that will send their feathery butts flying for a few hours.”

“Damn. Well, aren't you just a regular encyclopedia,” Dean snarked.  Sam gave his brother a bitchface and shook his head.  Dean may have been trying to act cool, but even he had to admit that he was a little impressed with how much she knew.

"I learned it all by watching you two," Chelsea stated matter-of-factly with a smirk. "More importantly, however, you're Sam and Dean fucking Winchester! You've saved the world how many times now?  Sure, you go about it in slightly ass-backward methods, and you both have your vices, but c'mon now!  You're heroes! You two have sacrificed a ridiculous amount for the sake of everyone else. And so what if God’s pissy sister is running around wrecking shit like an angsty teenager.  You’re _the_ Winchesters!  There’s literally no doubt in my mind that you’ll kick it in the ass so yea, I think I’ll take my chances with you two.”

Neither Winchester could help the faint blushes that rose on their cheeks. Sam licked his lips and looked away, unaccustomed to being called a hero.  Typically, when someone mentioned that they knew of them, it followed with mostly him getting yelled at for having started the apocalypse seven years prior.  He still carried a lot of guilt from it, all too aware of how many lives were lost during that times, so hearing some strange woman declare them heroes was embarrassing but in a good way.  Dean, on the other hand, was fidgeting in his seat as he tried to fight the smile that threatened to appear.  He glanced up at Chelsea, who now sat tucked into the corner with her head tilted and a tiny smirk gracing her lips.  Her eyes were twinkling slightly as she returned his gaze.  Dean felt his ears redden as pride bubbled inside his chest, which he shrugged off in an attempt to maintain his cool-guy façade.

“That’s—ahem—a bit of a turnaround from what you were saying earlier there, Chels.”  Dean recovered while licking his lips and leaning forward on his elbows.  Sam turned his attention back towards his companions, curious as to what his brother was playing at.

“Maybe,” Chelsea began slowly as she continued to hold Dean’s gaze, “but everyone has their faults, Dean.  Just because I recognize yours and Sam’s, doesn’t mean I don’t still think highly of you.” Sam could feel a shift in the atmosphere, suddenly feeling like a third wheel, but the sensation didn’t last long.

“Flattery will only get you so far sweetheart.”

“Meaning?” Chelsea quirked an eyebrow in questioning.

“You’re not gonna schmooze us into letting you stay.  It's too dangerous here and, as I'm sure you know, people who tend to stay or get close to us tend to end up getting hurt.  Now we'll help you get back on your feet, but when the time comes, we _will_ be sending you home."  Sam watched his brother sadly, all too aware of the truth behind his words.  They had lost far too many people due to the life and, if it could be helped, they would prevent anyone else from getting hurt.  But, as much as he agreed with what Dean was saying, Sam couldn't help but wonder if sending Chelsea home wasn't in her best interest.

The corners of Chelsea’s mouth twitched as her eyes narrowed at Dean.  Leaning forward so she was once again resting her forearms against the table, Chelsea dawned her most demure face before speaking. “Well Mr. Winchester, it seems what we have here is a failure to communicate,” she cooed with a fake yet sweetly smooth southern accent.

In the blink of an eye, the sweet smile and sparkling glint of her eyes were gone.  Instead, they were replaced by a toney expression and cold demeanor that sent a chill down Sam's spine at the suddenness of it.  Her jaw was set, her nose crinkled slightly, and she gave Dean a look that possibly would have made any normal man pee himself slightly.

"This isn't up for debate. I could give two shakes of a rat's ass about your opinions on the matter, and honestly, it's not for either of you to decide."  Chelsea's voice was harsh and her words absolute as she stared down the older Winchester.  Sam and Dean were taken aback at her sudden change in demeanor, and both men leaned away with wide eyes as she continued her declaration.

“Now both of you listen, and you listen good.  Under absolutely no circumstances will I _ever_ fucking go back.  This is not your decision to make, and neither of you gets to decide what's best for me.  Any attempts you two make to send me back will be shut down immediately followed by the most intense fucking game of ‘Where in the World is Chelsea Walker' that you have ever seen.  Being here is my best chance at a fresh start and doing something worthwhile, and I will _not_ have you two flannel-clad bastards rip that away from me.  Do I make myself clear?”

* * *

 

The drive from Maine to Kansas was a long and tedious one.  Every so often, Sam would doze off in the passenger seat while Dean drove the beloved Impala down the highway.  Now and again, Dean would glance up in the rearview mirror to stare at the brunette in the backseat.  Twice now in a single day, Dean Winchester got put in his place by the random woman he had almost run over.  To say the hunter was bull-headed would be an understatement, but damn if Chelsea Walker hadn’t given him a run for his money.

Dean had just taken driving back over from his brother for the final leg of their trek, classic rock softly playing on the radio.  Chelsea was curled up against the window behind Sam's seat, quietly nodding along to AC/DC as excitement began to bubble inside her at the idea of getting to see the actual bunker.  Feeling a set of eyes on her, Chelsea looked over to see Dean watching her from the rearview (again).  He had done so several times during their roughly 27-hour journey when he thought she wouldn’t notice, but she hadn’t said anything.  This time, however, she was growing increasingly restless from being stuck in the car for such an extensive amount of time (since Dean barely gave them any break during rest stops) and stuck her tongue out at him.  Dean scrunched up his nose in response and stuck his own tongue out in return mocking.

"Dude, seriously?" Sam reprimanded his brother as he nudged him with his elbow.  Dean shrugged in response and turned his eyes back to the road ahead.  Chelsea smirked in triumph at the exchange and turned back to watching the scenery as they drove past.

“So,” Dean began a moment later, “since we’re now stuck with little miss stubborn back there, what’s the game plan?”

“Well, I figure that we’re gonna need to get her on a vitamin regiment, and high carb and protein diet, to help her gain back some weight," Sam answered as he shifted in his seat to get a better view of his brother and their newfound passenger.

“And after that?” Dean asked, turning to Sam briefly before watching the road again.

“Well, she’s still gonna need a little bit of strength training, or physical therapy at the very least.”

“Uh, don’t I get a say in this? Pretty sure any physical activity involving you two gladiators would put me back in the hospital.” Chelsea chimed in as she leaned forward a little.

“Shut up bossy, you don’t get to make any more demands,” Dean snapped back.  Chelsea rolled her eyes and let out a sigh in response.

“Look, like I said before we left Augusta, just teach me how to do the credit card thing and let me bum a bed for a night or two and I’ll get outta your hair.  It’ll be just like you never even met me!”

“And like _we_ said, you’re stuck with us whether you like it or not.  You wanna be hard-headed and stay here, fine.  But you’re gonna be staying at the bunker with us, out of the way and out of trouble, and you’re sure as hell not hunting,” Dean shot over his shoulder with a stern look.

“What!? Bull! I’ve spent years watching you two hunt. I could be useful to you!”

"Oh no, you don't. You may have followed that god-awful show but watching and doing are two completely different things. And no offense, sweetheart, but you're not exactly in the best shape to even consider a basic salt-and-burn."

“Then get Castiel to heal me and give me some on-the-job training!” Chelsea argued as she threw her hands up in frustration.

“Cas isn’t just some walking, talking first aid kit we have on-call! He can’t fix everything!”

“Oh really? Because that’s how you’ve used him for the last few years…”

“ _EXCUSE ME_!?”

"Alright! ENOUGH!" Sam boomed, abruptly ending the squabble. "Look, honestly I agree with Dean—for now," Sam added before Chelsea could retort. " _However_ , I do think it might be in Chelsea’s best interest if we don’t send her home.”

“Hell no!!”

“Dean c’mon, it’s not our choice!  Besides, we still need to figure out who, or what, brought her here and why.”

“Exactly why she needs to go home!" Dean half-shouted with renewed interest in the prior argument.  "I don't care if she kicks and screams.  It's not safe here, and she needs to go the fuck home!"

“You know I can take care of myself,” Chelsea barked back.

“Sure, ya can. It’s worked sooooooo well for you so far.”

“Dean! C’mon man,” Sam scolded, “You heard her at the diner, so why not at least let her stay at the bunker? It's not like we don't have space! She doesn't even have a home to go back to‼"  Sam could understand his brother wanting to protect her from monsters and demons, but honestly, the bunker was probably the safest place for her.  He just didn't know why Dean was digging in his heels so much.

“Yeah, whatever…” Dean responded bitterly.  He knew Sam was right, of course, but that didn’t mean he had to be happy about it. "If anything happens, the second shit hits the fan because it _always_ does with us… I’m holding _you_ responsible.” Dean threatened as he jabbed a finger into Sam’s shoulder before turning his eyes back to the road.

Silence fell over the Impala for the remainder of the trip.  Dean had turned the radio up to prevent any further conversation, which earned him an eye roll, and Chelsea tucked herself back into the corner behind Sam.  She was happy with that Sam made a case for her but couldn't help but feel like an unwanted burden after Dean's reaction.  The last thing she wanted was for them to feel put-out because of her.  Chelsea chanced a peek at the rearview, but now Dean's attention was focused on the highway.  He didn't look up at her for the remainder of the drive.

Chelsea's thoughts were pushed aside a short time later by the familiar sight of the bunker's exterior.  On tv, the factory-like building looked big, but in person, it was absolutely huge!  Chelsea couldn't help but gape like a goldfish as Dean pulled baby up front and put her in park.  Sam noticed her open-mouth stare and let out an amused snort.

“Welcome to the Men of Letters Bunker.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. I know I promised to be back on track but due to issues w/ getting my move completed and the holidays, I got hijacked. BUT! I'm posting 2 chapters today and I already have chapter 9 written and ready for posting next Sunday so I hope you enjoy!
> 
> ps- these chapters have been previewed but are somewhat unbeta'd

Chelsea bounced lightly on her heels with excitement as Sam and Dean led her inside.  She couldn’t believe that she was about the see _the_ bunker!  Watching the Winchesters weekly, she often wondered what it would be like to be inside their secret hideaway, and now she was actually getting the opportunity.  Dean was the first one through the steel door, followed by Chelsea with Sam pulling up the rear.  An inaudible gasp escaped her as she clung to the railing and took in the familiar sight.  The large table in the center of the war room was aglow, as well as the control boards that lined the stone and steel walls.  The ceilings were much higher than Chelsea expected and, despite being underground, the room didn't feel claustrophobic.

On tv, the bunker interior had seemed dark and a little crowded.  In person, however, it was much more open and airier with ample light from the fixtures overhead.  Chelsea grinned from ear-to-ear and gave a little wiggle in delight.  Sam chuckled at the sight from behind her, earning his brother’s attention.  Dean, already at the bottom of the stairs, turned around to see their new guest wiggling like an excited puppy.  It was equal parts ridiculous and adorable.

_You’ve got to be kidding me…_

“HEY!” Chelsea whipped her head around to look at Dean with wide eyes and looking startled. “Stop that! C’mon.”

Chelsea quickly bounded and came to a stop before Dean, practically vibrating with a cutesy grin.  Dean quirked an eyebrow in response before shaking his head and rolling his eyes.  Moving onward to the library, Sam continued to silently laugh at the nonsense before him.  Upon entering the infamous bunker library, Chelsea’s eyes went wide in wonder.  She loved the vintage, art deco style that decorated the Men of Letters’ bunker.  Her eyes were immediately drawn to the chocolate-colored, wooden tables and various weapons on display atop every free-standing bookshelf.  And the books!  Chelsea may have been more movie buff than bibliophile, but she couldn’t help but appreciate exactly how well-stocked the library actually was.  From the other side of a screen, only so much could be shown, making the vast room appear small and meager.  But in-person it was another example of how the series simply did not do the space justice.

"So yeah, this is our base. Like what you see?" Sam asked pleasantly, getting enjoyment out of her reactions.  He and Dean had been watching her with interest as she looked around the room in admiration.

“Are you kidding me!?  This place is like Wayne Manor meets Stark Tower! Damn straight I like it!” Chelsea exclaimed as she gestured to the room.  Sam raised his eyebrows at her response while Dean gave an appreciative half-smile.  He was still mildly stiff after their earlier conversation in the car and trying to maintain his gruff, hardened exterior.  But even he couldn’t help the pride that swelled inside him at her complimenting their home.

“C’mon, girly, let’s give you the official tour,” Dean pressed, motioning for her to follow.

Sam and Dean continued further into the bunker.  Chelsea scampered behind them, hurrying to keep up and making a mental note to return later to snoop through some of the lore books.  However, she quickly got distracted by the giant telescope nestled in the atrium at the end of the library.  Sam had to steer her back on course, bemusedly reminding her that it would still be there later.

The Winchesters showed her around, Dean taking point and Sam following behind Chelsea, making sure she didn’t get too distracted along the way (which she did).  They showed her the kitchen, which she planned on utilizing as soon as she got the chance, the showers, gym, and firing range.  When they finally reached the bedroom, Chelsea opted for one across from and two doors down from Dean, putting her just around the corner and three away from Sam.  It was simple, cozy, and surprisingly clean.  Sam explained that, when they first arrived at the bunker, there was very little dust for the most part due to the place having been airlocked for 50+ years.  Chelsea set her duffel at the foot of the bed as she gave the room a good look-over.  In the center was a neatly made double bed, the layout very similar to Dean's room minus any personal touches.  The shelves were bare, and even the desk looked as if it had been seldom used in the past.

“So, yeah! That’s about it really. We pretty much eat whenever so if your hungry just help yourself to—”

“Dean, no offense, but do you actually have anything in there besides condiments, beer, and expired leftover?” Chelsea interrupted with a questioning look.

“Hey! We have food! Usually…” Dean retorted defensively.

“Dude I’ve seen the show. I’ve watched you two scurry around here for the past three years.  How exactly do you expect to help me with my health problems if you two can barely keep yourselves fed? And alive?”

"Leave that to me," Sam reassured her, "I'm going to do a supply run later and stock up on everything we need.  We've been gone for a while, so grocery shopping is overdue."

“Ohhhhhh no you don’t!” Dean interjected. “You’re gonna get nothing but rabbit food and healthy, organic crap! No, _I’ll_ do the supply run.”

“Dude no! She needs food rich in nutrients that’ll actually help her get better!  Not junk food, pizza, and bacon cheeseburgers!” Instantly, the two brothers were bickering back and forth, as siblings do, much to Chelsea’s delight.  Growing up as an only child, she always found it entertaining when people would argue with their brothers and sisters.  As amusing as watching the Winchester banter was, however, Chelsea figured she should probably mediate their argument.

"Alright you two, enough!"  Sam and Dean settled down and looked to her as she spoke. "How about we all just go together?  I know there's stuff you two won't eat, and I sure as hell have stuff I won't eat… But if we go together, then everyone can get what they want. And Sam, you can guarantee that a certain someone won't destroy my arteries in an attempt to fatten me up."  Chelsea looked pointedly at Dean with her last comment, who was now pouting slightly.

“Fine. But we’re getting _actual_ food!” Dean pointed at the pair in front of him before stalking to his room.

Sam shook his head at his brother before turning to Chelsea. "Go ahead and get some rest. I'm sure you're exhausted after the last few days.  One of us will come to get you when we decide to head out."

“Sounds good to me. Thanks, Sam.”

Sam gave a small nod and headed off in the opposite direction, back towards the library.  Chelsea quietly glanced around once more before taking a seat on the bed.  It was stiff and brick-like from lack of use but was much better than the continually deflating air mattress she was stuck using before everything happened.  Aside from the hospital, this was the first time in roughly two years that she had a bed to lay in.  Chelsea wanted to relax, rest, and decompress now that they were no longer on the road, but the earlier conversation in the car still lingered in the back of her mind.  Having watched ‘Supernatural' since day one, Chelsea had really come to know the Winchester dynamic.  Nine times out of ten, it was Dean's way or the highway, though sometimes Sam would fuss and argue with him before eventually giving in to his older brother's decisions.  She knew that her staying there was going to be an on-going argument that she would have to stand her ground on if she wanted any leeway, even if Dean had agreed to it, for the time being.  Chelsea's mind was restless as she laid back on the overly firm bed, but eventually sleep overtook her.

Chelsea’s first week at the bunker was definitely an adjustment, not just for her but for the Winchesters as well.  There were a few times where she got lost trying to get to the kitchen or bathroom, each time ending with her somehow bumping into one of the brothers and pathetically begging for help.  Thankfully, the learning curve of the bunker’s layout did not last long and soon enough, Chelsea was able to flit around freely without assistance.  That wasn’t to say that neither Sam nor Dean never knew when she was wandering about.  They quickly found out that Chelsea was exceptionally clumsy.  She frequently bumped into the various tables in the bunker’s library and kitchen, as well as tripped over pulled out chairs and stumbling up and down steps.  Admittedly, it was amusing because never had they seen someone so lacking in coordination.  What confused them, however, was that the more tired she was, the more graceful she suddenly was, navigating the bunker with easy and casually avoiding hazards that even Sam or Dean would hit.

Sam had researched and developed a proper food and vitamin regiment to get her health on track, though some of the menu items were met with distaste:

“Sam, there is nothing on this god-forsaken planet that will _ever_ convince me to willingly eat brussels sprouts!” 

Luckily, Dean had taken pity on her plight and started sneaking her Milky Way and Snickers candy bars when his brother wasn’t looking.  Sam had also attempted to convince her to join him on his morning jogs, stating that it would be an excellent way to build up her endurance and potentially strengthen Chelsea's heart.  Unfortunately for him, Chelsea was not very receptive to the idea of being woken up at the ass-crack of dawn.  Poor Sam learned the hard way when he attempted to get her up only to be accidentally given a bloody nose in her sleep.  After that, Sam was much more content to avoid her in the mornings, leaving her instead to her night-owling ways.

Since she did need some form of physical activity to rebuild her muscles, it was decided that Chelsea would instead partake in fundamental weight-training and core strengthening.  Dean sometimes would sneak into the gym to watch as his brother put his new little project through her circuit, laughing at the bitterness and fuss she put up.  He particularly got a kick out of watching her angrily do sit-ups as Sam spotted for her:

“C’mon, Chels, that’s five.”

“This sucks! I’m not a sports girl! I was an art student!” Chelsea whined before hitting the floor again.

“It’s okay, kid. You only have 15 more to go!” Dean taunted from the doorway.

“FUCK YOU AND YOUR FITNESS!”

During the start of her stay at the bunker, Dean was still a bit grouchy around her.  He was unhappy that Sam’s argument for not trying to find a way to send her home was a sound one, much to Chelsea’s relief.  After everyone settled in with the new living arrangement, however, Dean started to warm up to her.  Chelsea would sometimes go to the garage and hover when Dean was working, just enjoying watching him fix up baby.  At first, he didn't appreciate the company, saying it cut into his "Dean time." Eventually, he didn't mind it so much, especially after figuring out that part of why she did it was to listen to the classic rock he had blaring on the radio.  Before long, the routine came to be that whenever he was going to work on his beloved car, he would announce what he was doing so that she knew to come along with him.  Sam caught on quick to the pair becoming more and more inseparable, and honestly thought it was a good thing.  Dean would tinker away at his car, nodding along to whatever song he had blaring throughout the garage.  Meanwhile, she would sit off to the side, drawing away in her old sketchbook and tapping her foot in time to the music.

Over time, Dean came to accept the fact that Chelsea was there to stay.  Although he'd never admit it, he greatly welcomed her company.  Sam had been happy to have her join them at the bunker from the get-go and was glad to have someone who was more than willing to do some research than his brother.  He was pleasantly surprised at how extensive her knowledge of myths and creatures was, although considering that she admitted to having been a fan of the show about their lives he shouldn’t have been. 

Countless days were spent trying to figure out who—or what—brought her to their world and why, but so far everything was a dead end.  It was equal parts infuriating and confusing to all parties.  Their best guess was that it was a freak accident of nature.  Although, as Dean so eloquently stated, “Accidents don’t just happen accidentally.”  They also toyed around with the idea that Amara was maybe involved somehow. However, she had been radio-silent for some time before Chelsea even got struck by lightning.  At the moment, the trio was stuck in limbo with their research.


	8. Chapter 8

January came around in the blink of an eye, and the trio was no closer to finding Amara or solving the mystery of how Chelsea got to their world.  She had been at the bunker for almost three months now, and her health had been improving in leaps and bounds.  Sam and Dean had been working a steady flow of cases, but recently their workload came to a grinding halt.  Chelsea was happy to spend some time with the two older hunters, but it wasn't long before Dean started to get a dose of cabin fever. 

One day towards the end of the month, Dean had gone out for a short morning drive while Sam and Chelsea hung out in the bunker's library. Sam was busy browsing the internet on his laptop and Chelsea mindlessly doodled away in her sketchbook.  She had filled up several since arriving at the bunker, which was surprising to Sam and Dean.  When asked what she was drawing all the time, she merely shrugged and said, "There's a lot to draw around here."

"Hey, Dean!" Chelsea greeted when she heard the bunker door open and shut.

“Heya,” Dean answered back as he stepped into the library, “Did you catch us a case?”

“Ummm… No.”

“Uhhh get this… Some—Some dude took a picture of a weasel riding a flying woodpecker.  I—It’s kinda nuts.”  Sam turned his laptop so that Dean and Chelsea could see the picture.  It was one of those perfectly timed moments that really made you question what goes on in nature when nobody is paying attention.

“Weird shit,” Chelsea commented, still staring at the photo.

“So, I’m guessing there’s nothing on the Amara-meter either?”

“Um, no.  I’m starting to think that God’s psycho sister has gone to ground.”

Chelsea was now intensely focused on Sam’s screen, determined to figure out whether the photo was legit or a manipulation.  She always had a hard time believing it when people claimed to capture such oddball moments on film.

“What about you? Hear from Cas?” Sam continued, glancing at Chelsea as she started making weird faces at his laptop.  She was a little too focused on that picture.

“No, he said he was working on something to draw her out, but it’s been radio silence since he was here.”

“Yeah, all this quiet is starting to wig me out.”

Dean reached into the white fast food bag he had set on the table and pulled out 3 small boxes.  Chelsea's attention was drawn back to the two brothers, and she watched the boxes with interest.  Opening one, Dean revealed a monstrosity of a burger that both intrigued and terrified Chelsea and Sam.

“What the hell is that?” Sam pointed in disgust to the bacon cheeseburger jammed between two donuts.

“That? That’s the Elvis.”

“The Elvis?” Chelsea asked as she made a face at the artery-clogging concoction.

“Mhmm.”

“I—Is that a….?” Sam poked at what was supposed to be the top bun of the burger, “that’s a glazed donut.”

“Ahem… Yeah.  Two, actually: one topside, one on the bottom.” Sam and Chelsea stared at Dean like he grew an extra head as he ranted about the burger, “Now, your inferior versions... they'll just take one donut, split it right down the middle. Mmm-mmm.” Dean kissed his fingers and made the Italian gesture for delicious food, “BOOM.”

Dean looked so happy about his burger discovery, but Chelsea wondered how long it would take such a thing to stop her heart.  Sam still looked disgusted by the donut, bacon cheeseburger.

“All right, well, uh… Hope you enjoy it.” Sam nudged the burger back towards his brother, causing Chelsea to snicker at his reaction.

“Wow. You know there are starving children out there… And right here!” Dean then pointed directly at Chelsea.

“Oh, screw you! I’ll have you know I’ve gained 20 pounds since coming here.” Chelsea rebuked as she crossed her arms and leaned back a little in her chair.

“You know, most women wouldn’t brag about that, Chels,” Sam teased the younger woman.

“Well, ya know, most women don’t suffer malnutrition, get struck by lightning, and then almost get run over by some hand-me-down muscle car," Chelsea snarked back. Sam nodded in agreement and made an expression that said, ‘fair enough.'  Dean, however, was giving her an unamused bitchface.

“Shut up. Don’t waste good food,” Dean snapped as he pushed a burger towards Sam and Chelsea respectively.

“Dude, I'm not gonna survive hundreds of monster attacks to get flatlined by—by some double-donut monstrosity.”

Just then, Dean's phone started ringing, and the conversation fell by the wayside.  On the phone was Claire Novak, the daughter of Castiel's vessel, asking for help with a possible case involving the disappearance of several people around Sioux Falls.  Chelsea instantly lit-up and began tapping the table excitedly with her hands. Sam gestured to her and shook his head in questioning.  The second Dean got off the phone, the incessant begging began.  Chelsea was dying to meet Jody Mills, Alex, and Claire but Dean was having none of it.

“Please, please, PLEASE??”

“Christ you’re a broken record… For the last time NO!” Dean shut her down quickly without a second thought, “We’re just doing a simple consult on Claire’s case.  Won’t be more than a day or two.”

“Oh c’mon!! Sam?” Chelsea turned to the younger Winchester, donning her best puppy dog eyes.

“HEY! Don’t go asking him after I just said no!” Dean shouted from behind her.  Unfortunately, Chelsea was going up against the king of the puppy dog stare.

“Sorry, Chels, but I’m with Dean on this one,” Sam answered apologetically.  “We don’t know how serious the case is and, honestly, you still have some ways to go before you’re in top shape.”

Chelsea hated to admit it, but Sam was right.  It was true, her health had made a fantastic turnaround, but her muscles were still a little weak. There was also the issue of keeping her heart murmur in check.  She hadn't been there when Cas stopped by the bunker last, instead was doing a supply run while the boys worked a case.  So not only had she missed the opportunity to meet the infamous angel, but she also missed the chance to get an instant clean bill of health.  Thankfully, her body was no longer in excruciating pain from having been struck by lightning. She was, however, now more prone to static shock than before (which Dean did not hesitate to take advantage of).

“Fine…” Chelsea finally conceded, shoulders slumped in disappointment.  She was getting tired of getting left behind on hunts and sometimes felt like maybe the Winchesters were babying her a bit.  Sure, she was younger than Sam, but only by two and a half years.  And sure, Amara was a real threat, but she had basically vanished for a while now.  So, why not let her tag along on hunts?  It was her choice, not theirs. Honestly, she was probably more capable than Claire was at hunting if she did say so herself.

Dean let out a sigh before deciding to offer up a compromise, much to Sam’s amusement. “Look, I promise that I _personally_ will take you to meet Jody and them when we hit another caseless week.”

“Promise?” Chelsea asked as she looked up at him from under her lashes.

“Promise. See ya in a few days, kid." Sam and Dean each gave her a quick peck on the cheek before heading off to the garage.  Chelsea could faintly hear the rumble of the Impala and soon found herself alone in the bunker for the first time since she was brought there.

Chelsea looked around the library where the boys left her standing.  She admittedly didn't quite know what to do with herself.  Ever since she arrived, Sam and Dean had stuck to cases that were close to home, the last being a banshee at Oak Park Retirement Home. However, that had been about a month ago. Chelsea got to help with the research, though she would’ve much preferred to have been out in the field with the boys.  Even when there were supply runs, she hadn't been left alone.  Typically, she would tag along with whichever Winchester whose turn it was to go so that she could get some fresh air and not go stir crazy.  She had come to enjoy the downtime spent with Sam and Dean, getting a rare look at their personalities.  It was a position any fan of the show would kill for.  Although, Chelsea doubted they would be thrilled about the getting struck by lightning and almost becoming roadkill part.

Chelsea began wandering aimlessly around the bunker, remapping its layout in her head as she passed through the familiar halls.  After the first week or so, she finally stopped getting lost when trying to locate the bathroom.  Yet, it seemed like every time she looked Chelsea found some new feature that she hadn't noticed before.  She often wondered whether the brothers had taken the time to actually stop and appreciate the architecture and tiny details of their home.  Like how the ceiling and floor trims had repetitious warding symbols carved into the stone and tile. Or how in various places around the bunker, particularly the library and war room, there were brass symbols from various cultures inlaid in the flooring.  Or that the reading nook on the catwalk in the war room had a giant Aquarian star on the floor in the center.  She was optimistic that Sam had noticed, at the very least.

After a quick lunch, Chelsea decided to do what any good houseguest would and go snooping through Sam and Dean’s rooms.  She couldn’t help but be curious about what juicy little secrets the boys kept hidden away that she didn't already know about from having watched the show.  Being alone at the bunker for a few days gave her a golden opportunity that she just could not pass up.  Scurrying down the halls, she decided to start with the older Winchester’s room.  Dean’s room was just about what Chelsea expected.  There was a ridiculous amount of empty single-serving pie containers in his trashcan, mostly apple and cherry.  He had amassed a rather vast classic rock vinyl collection in the years since moving into the bunker.  What did surprise her was how extensive and organized his porno magazine collection, which _only_ consisted of ‘Busty Asian Beauties.' 

_My god, Dean, get some variety dude…_

Chelsea continued around Dean’s room, careful to make sure she didn’t disturb anything that she couldn’t put back into place.  She got to the nightstand where she found a steno notepad with a bunch of stuff written on it. Some of it was notes from previous hunts, some pages were thoughts and questions regarding Amara, and one page looked like Dean had tried to brainstorm reasons behind Chelsea's appearance in their world.  Flipping through, she found a bunch of pictures hidden in the back of the notebook.  The first one was of Dean and his mother, Mary.  Chelsea recognized the photo immediately, having seen it several times on the show over the years.  Looking through the small stack, she noticed that almost all the pictures were from Dean's childhood, all before his mother's death, with one or two pictures of just his parents together. 

_I guess he really is sentimental…_

Chelsea put the pictures and steno pad back into place and moved on to Sam’s room.  She felt a weird twinge of guilt after having seen those pictures.  She wondered how often he took them out and looked at them, relating to the feeling of missing a happier childhood.  He had looked so happy and carefree back then; Dean rarely smiled so genuinely and freely, and Chelsea could feel her heart break a little at the realization of how much the life has affected him.  It was so different seeing it in person, seeing the dark circles, the tired eyes, and the long, often sleepless nights.

Sam’s room was more of a challenge than Dean’s in terms of finding anything of interest.  If it weren’t for the odd flannel lying about, one would think that the room was still unoccupied.  Everything on the desk was arranged just so, and the various case files he had around the room were cataloged like one would a library. 

 _Damn, and people say that I’M neurotic_ …

Letting out a sigh of frustration, Chelsea gave the room another look-over before eyeing the bed suspiciously.  If she were going to hide anything, under the bed and between the mattresses would be her go-to spots.  Deciding to take a chance, she first slid her hand underneath Sam's mattress and found a naughty librarian themed porno mag.  She honestly couldn't say she wasn't entirely surprised as it certainly seemed like a kink he would have.  Nevertheless, Chelsea had mostly pegged him for keeping his porn stash completely digital since he was always on his laptop or phone.  Satisfied with her find, Chelsea returned the magazine to its place and got on all fours to peek underneath Sam’s bed.

“Sam, you ASS!! I _knew_ it!”

Underneath the bed was a ridiculous amount of Andes chocolate mint wrappers.  Clearly Mr. Healthy wasn’t as anti-sugar as he pretended to be and oh was she going to let him have it when he got home.  Pushing aside the candy wrappers, Chelsea hit her hand on something solid and withdrew momentarily.  Pulling out her phone to use as a makeshift flashlight, she took another look under the bed and saw a decent sized, black, wooden box.  Curiosity piqued, she slid the box out and sat cross-legged before it, wondering what on earth the younger Winchester would possibly be hiding.

Chelsea slowly opened the box and was genuinely surprised by what she found inside.  A brochure for the retirement home in town where they had that banshee case sat right on top.  There was also an old, autographed baseball in a small protective case, a deck of playing cards potentially from Sam's ‘magic phase,' and a pocket knife with a wooden handle.  Chelsea smiled at the brochure; it was good to see that Sam had hope for the future, even if his brother didn't.  Moving the brochure aside, she found a stack of photographs just like Dean had in his room, only Sam's had a different subject matter in his.  A couple of the pictures were from Sam and Dean growing up, but most of them were from the first few years after Sam left Stanford. One had the boys posing with Bobby Singer in his junkyard, and another was a candid photo taken at Bobby's kitchen table.

Chelsea stared at the photos a moment, thinking about how different the two hunters were in personality.  The more she thought about it, the more it occurred to Chelsea that she didn’t actually have any pictures of her parents.  When someone had broken into her apartment several years ago, what few she did have were destroyed beyond repair.  Her parents' wedding photos, her birth photos, pictures from major events in her life growing up; all gone.  Feeling a pang of jealousy, Chelsea returned everything to its place and exited Sam's bedroom.

She wondered if maybe she should make a memory box as well, though she wasn’t entirely sure what she’d put in it.  She had very few things to remember her parents by, and Chelsea was pretty sure that her dad’s old fireman’s helmet was too big for a memory box.  She would be able to put in her mother’s jewelry and her dad’s fireman’s badge, however.  Chelsea started to feel a familiar pang in her chest as she thought about her parents.  It had been so long, one would think that she would have moved on at least a little from their deaths.  But no, instead she clung to the pain and bitterness from losing them at a young age, especially her mother.  That was something she and the Winchesters shared, though they could never really get her to talk about it.  They had each lost their mothers before really getting a chance with them.

Lost in thought, Chelsea soon found herself in front of a room she had never seen before.  Once again, curiosity struck her fancy, which was really going to get her in trouble one of these days.  Slowly, Chelsea turned the handle and opened the door.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! I'm posting early this week because I just found out my apartment application got approved so now I'll be moving (again) this weekend. So for the sake of making sure I get the next chapter posted, I'm doing it early! Hope y'all enjoy!

Lost in thought, Chelsea soon found herself in front of a room she had never seen before.  Once again, curiosity struck her fancy, which was really going to get her in trouble one of these days.  Slowly, Chelsea turned the handle and opened the door.

Stepping inside, Chelsea looked around in surprise.  The room was practically devoid of furnishings and décor save for a long table along the left wall, a few rogue boxes, and a sparse metal shelving unit that matched the ones in the storage room.  At first, she wondered if maybe this was supposed to be a second storage room or dungeon, but there was no devil's trap on the floor, and the walls were bare.  It was spacious and airy with ample light from numerous industrial lamps overhead.  It honestly reminded her of her old high school’s art room.

Then, an idea struck her: why not turn this unused space into her own private art studio?  Sam and Dean would notice her taking over a random, abandoned room at the bunker.  And it wasn't like there weren't plenty of other places for the boys to still utilize as needed.  She could picture it now—easels and paint splattered tarps covering the walls and flooring, charcoal, pastels, and art pencils spread out on the table, the shelving unit covered in various tools and mediums, and sketchbooks! And oh, so many clean, crisp canvases just begging to be painted on.  Chelsea could feel the excitement bubbling up inside her at the possibilities.  For years, she had been craving a proper art space, and now here it was, just waiting for her to use it.

Chelsea turned back towards the door, musing over the different ways she could transform the space into her perfect oasis.  Stopping abruptly, however, she suddenly felt incredibly stupid.  Just across the hall, staring back at her in all its glory, was room 7B, the bunker's storage room, and dungeon.  Clearing the space between herself and the door across the way, Chelsea looked back and forth at the two rooms.  She couldn't believe that she had never noticed that empty room before.

_Well shit…_

Being a former art student, Chelsea was far more visually observant than most people, including the Winchesters.  If she had failed to notice the room across from the dungeon, then there was no doubt in her mind that they had been unable to notice it as well.  However, that wasn't necessarily a bad thing.  It was guaranteed privacy; unless Sam and Dean had someone locked away in their infamous interrogation room, it also meant quiet.  Not to say that the boys were overly loud or obnoxious, but sometimes a girl just needs her own little corner of the world to call her own.  It was oh, so tempting.

Chelsea was torn; on the one hand, this room (7D) was the _perfect_ art space.  However, there was still the possibility that the two hunters would change their minds and try to find a way to send her home.  Sam had been all for her living at the bunker with them and was even the one to suggest it.  Dean seemed to have warmed up to the idea, but the man was notoriously mercurial.  Deep down, the prospect of going back to her own world scared her.  She had barely been there three months, but everything just seemed to fall into place with the Winchesters.  For the first time in years, Chelsea finally felt like she had a home and was not ready to give that up.

Suddenly, Chelsea's phone dinged, pulling her from her thoughts.  When she first got settled in, the boys made sure to get her a proper phone so they could keep in communication whenever they were out on a hunt.  Usually, though, she used it to play ‘Words with Friends' and ‘SongPop' against Dean and send random memes back-and-forth with Sam.  Unlocking her phone, Chelsea saw that the message was from Dean and was mildly confused; despite all the time they spend together, Sam was usually the one to do check-ins.  When she actually read the text, she busted out laughing.

DEAN: _This shit just got awkward. Consider yourself lucky that you’re not here_

DEAN: _Jody just made us sit in on her giving the talk to Alex_

Chelsea could not believe what she was reading.  Sam and Dean were probably the _last_ people who should be giving a “safe sex” talk to anyone.  Hell, Dean even accidentally fathered a daughter with some Amazon four years prior!  Sam did end up killing her, but still!  Chelsea wasted no time responding to Dean’s messages.

CHELSEA: _GOOD! Heaven and hell know you two could use it_

DEAN: _Excuse you?_

DEAN: _I am the epitome of safe sex!!_

DEAN: _Never got an STD, always tested clean!!_

Chelsea could tell the older Winchester was getting riled up and could not resist the urge to egg him on even further.

CHELSEA: _Riiiiiiggghhhttt_

CHELSEA: _BTW how’s your baby mama? You kno, Lydia? Amazon chick? The baby you fathered tried to kill you?_

CHELSEA: _Or that stripper you tried to hook up with when you had the mark only to get kicked out for being too handsy?_

CHELSEA: _Or that prostitute you considered paying for sex after meeting her because of a dating app before finding out about a demon-run brothel?_

CHELSEA: _Or practically every, beautiful, single woman in the continental US?_

CHELSEA: _Hmmmmmmm?_

It took a moment for Dean to respond to her onslaught of text messages, but when he did, he did not disappoint.

DEAN: _Bite me_

DEAN: _Fucking know-it-all with your stupid show_

CHELSEA: _No thanks_

CHELSEA: _Not into vampirism_

CHELSEA: _BTW speaking of kinks… Do you own EVERY copy of Busty Asian Beauties ever?_

CHELSEA: _WTF dude?_

DEAN: _Hold up! Who the hell said you could go into my room!?_

DEAN: _What the hell did you do in there!?!?_

Chelsea sent Dean a shrugging emoji as she made her way back to the library.  She had barely stepped into the room when her phone started ringing.  For some reason, she felt her stomach twist into knots with excitement; she was having too much fun messing with Dean.

“Pete’s Pizza Palace, how can we serve you?” She drawled in mock greeting.

“Ok smartass, what did you do to my room?” Dean snapped on the other end of the line.

“Le Gasp! I’m totally innocent Dean! I would _never_ do _anything_ to your personal belongings while you’re away.  I’m absolutely hurt and appalled by your accusation!” Chelsea really laid it on thick as she gave a shit-eating grin.  She hadn’t actually done anything to his stuff, but Dean didn’t know that.

“Uh-huh.  If I come home and find out that you did something sneaky to my stuff, it’s on girly. Your ass is toast.”

“Awww, you wouldn’t do anything to hurt little old me, would you?” she asked as innocently as possible.

Dean shook his head as he sat down on Jody’s front step, “Sweetheart, you do not wanna start a prank war with me. I _never_ lose.”

Chelsea laughed whole-heartedly, “I dunno… Might wanna instigate shit between you and Sam and just watch from a safe distance.  Not gonna lie, the itching powder, whoopie cushion, and superglued beer bottle were hilarious.”

“HAH! Yeeaaaaah, you can’t beat the classics,” Dean chuckled.

“So, how’s the hunt going?” Chelsea asked as she settled at the base of one of the pillars by the library telescope.

“Uhhh, there might not actually be a case here.”

“Say what?”

Dean explained that apparently Claire had gone a little hunt happy as of late and had nothing but false alarms and potential assault charges for the past month or so.  She swore that this time, however, she really had something, but Jody and Alex weren’t convinced.  It reminded Chelsea of “The Boy Who Cried Wolf” although she knew that Claire had the best of intentions.  Sam was upstairs giving Claire a pep talk at the moment.

“Kinda sounds like she’s getting restless…” Chelsea commented thoughtfully.

"Well, she needs to tone it down and could honestly stand to show Jody a little more respect."

“Yeah. Based on what I saw, back when all this was a tv show to me, Jody seemed like good people.”  Secretly, Jody Mills had been one of Chelsea’s favorites.  It was still a little weird knowing that here, all the characters were real people.  Regardless, she really wanted to meet Jody, mostly because she reminded Chelsea a lot of her deceased mother.

“If we had known this would be a dud, we would’ve brought you along to meet everyone.”

“It’s ok. You never really know if something’s a case or not until you’re there, right?”

"Well, I promised to bring you up here when they were settled a bit," Dean continued, "And Sam and I told everyone about you, so they're all excited to meet."

“Really?” Chelsea could feel her cheeks heating up in embarrassment.

“Yep,” Dean answered with a pop.

“Excellent!”

Dean huffed in amusement at her excitement, “Alright well let me get back in there. We’ll see ya soon.”

“M’kay. See ya, Dean.”

Dean ended the call and stared at his phone for a moment.  It surprised him how comfortable he had gotten with their new house-guest already.  Sometimes he wondered if maybe he hadn’t gotten _too_ comfortable around her.  They had gotten close in no time flat, much closer than she had gotten with Sam.  What would happen if Amara ever got her hands on Chelsea?  Would he even be able to save her, or protect her?  The thought scared Dean, though he would never admit it.  Everyone they got close to got hurt in some way, or even died, because of them, so why would she be any different?  It would be selfish to let her stay with them, knowing what her fate might be.  But what would be more selfish?  Putting her in harm’s way because he enjoyed the newfound companionship? Or sending her away with nowhere else to go because he got scared?

Dean’s mind was racing.  He didn’t even have the right to toy with the idea of the _possibility_ of anything being there between Chelsea and himself.  And she sure as hell deserved a better life than what they were giving her, though she put her foot down day one that they weren’t going to get rid of her easily. Damn, that woman was stubborn.

Dean got up from where he was sitting and headed back inside, pushing down his internal conflict for the time being.  Back at the bunker, Chelsea was also dwelling on their phone call.  She thought it was odd how friendly Dean had become with her in such a short amount of time.  They had fallen into step with each other, and she couldn't help but question why sometimes her heart would race when she heard his voice.  Dean was so wishy-washy when it came to people, and what he wanted so, once again, he made her nervous.  Chelsea wondered if maybe part of it her craving human contact wasn't merely because of having been alone and on her own for so long.

Shoving her racing thoughts aside, Chelsea turned her focus back to the empty room she found.  If she really wanted to do this, she was going to need to hit the store while the brothers were away.  Luckily, the bunkers garage had plenty of cars in stock for her to choose from.  Although they hadn’t quite started letting her do supply runs on her own just yet, Sam did get Chelsea her own credit card, albeit a fraudulent one.  But hey, beggars can’t be choosers. 

Standing up with a long stretch that made her body creak, Chelsea set about the task at hand.  She hoped she could remember what brand art supplies were good to use.  After all, it had been years since she last went shopping for said supplies.  Since Claire's hunt was proving to be unreliable, Chelsea had a tiny window of opportunity to work with, and she did not intend to waste a moment.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, everyone, for your patience. Writer's block is a bitch and a half to work through and I know I promised to update weekly, so that's admittedly why this chapter is late and on the shorter side... I promise this fic is still active I just couldn't figure out what to write next. This chapter is only somewhat beta'd so I'm sorry if any parts read weird. Chapter 11 is almost done and should hopefully be up by Valentine's Day :)

Chelsea wasted no time setting up a game plan for getting supplies to and stashed away at the bunker before the brothers came home the next day.  Unfortunately, the closest art supply store was a Hobby Lobby 95 miles north, which conveniently closed in the next half hour.  Unless she could suddenly teleport, there was no way she would make it by then.  However, the store opened at 8am the following day, so if she was really determined to get in and back before the Winchesters came home, that meant waking up by 6am.  Sam would be so impressed.

When Chelsea pulled her to her destination the next morning, she was pissed to see a text from Dean saying there actually _was_ a case and that they wouldn’t be home for another day or so.

“I woke up before the ass-crack of dawn for nothing!? I could be back in my bed! Dreaming of chocolate and caramel candy land! Stupid fuckin’—” Chelsea smacked the steering wheel of the ’57 Thunderbird in frustration.  She detested mornings and even after 8 cups of coffee, she still wasn’t 100% society-friendly yet.  “Stupid mornings and stupid cases and stupid peppy early people…”

Chelsea continued to grumble to herself as she crossed the parking lot into the store.  Despite being excited to finally have proper art supplies again, she still wished she was back in bed asleep.  Her mood instantly brightened the moment she entered the art supplies section, however.  Floor to ceiling was covered in shelves of every color paint imaginable, brushes and sponges and scrapers, paint palettes, easels of numerous sizes, and so much more.  The store was surprisingly well stocked for its location, and Chelsea couldn’t help but wiggle at the sight.

_‘I’m gonna need a new credit card after this.’_

Four hours and over a grand later, Chelsea had everything she needed for her secret lair.  Luckily, there had been a sale going on, so she was able to double-up on everything she needed and more.  It had been a slight struggle fitting everything into the green Thunderbird she swiped from the bunker’s garage.  The two easels and state-of-the-art art table were thankfully broken down in boxes but were almost too snuggly fit in the backseat.  Not to mention the giant bean bag chair and mini-fridge she grabbed at a nearby Wal-Mart made the ride back borderline claustrophobic.  Chelsea couldn’t help but wonder if maybe she overdid it a little as she eyed the mini-fridge strapped in the front seat.  The staff at both stops had been more than helpful with loading up the car but getting everything from the car to the room on the other side of the bunker was going to be a nightmare.

By the time Chelsea returned to the bunker’s garage that afternoon, her arms and legs were trembling, and her head had begun to feel floaty.  If this was what happened after one shopping trip, then maybe the boys were right about her not being able to hunt.

_‘Maybe… I’ll just come get everything after a quick nap…’_

Chelsea slowly made her way down the bunker halls to her bedroom, teetering slightly from side-to-side as she went.  She let her fingers trail along the bunker walls so she could lean easily lean for support if need be.   The moment she reached her room, she collapsed on the bed and passed out, not hearing her phone ding with a text message from Dean.

When Chelsea awoke, it was 6:30 that evening.  She was somewhat delirious at first but was able to quickly get a grasp on her surroundings.  Chelsea pulled out her phone to see if she had any missed notifications and only then saw his message checking up on her, now four hours after the fact.  Not wanting to worry the hunter over her sudden unsteadiness, she came up with a quick lie and messaged him back.

CHELSEA: _Hey! Sorry, I had my phone charging in my room while watching movies in the library again. My bad…_

CHELSEA: _Everything going good here. How’s the case?_

Stretching out her muscles and tying her thick, chocolate tresses back in a messy bun, Chelsea decided to carry on with her prior task and made her way back to the garage.  The numerous smaller bags filled with the spoils of her shopping trip were no problem to load into the would-be art space, but the larger ones proved to be a different story. Merely getting the boxes out of the car had taken much more effort than she expected.  Fortunately, after doing some digging around the bunker’s garage and storage rooms, Chelsea was able to locate a dolly she could use to move the heavier stuff.  Unfortunately, being the clutz that she was, it also resulted in her accidentally crashing into the walls several times along the way.

After finally getting everything unloaded, Chelsea let herself collapse into the bean bag chair and sighed in frustration.  She was feeling winded and dizzy from all the physical activity, and it was absolutely infuriating.  She felt so physically weak almost all the time. All the training and strength-building didn’t seem to make any real difference.  It was equally infuriating that the Winchesters seemed to take notice and coddle her because of it.  Deep down, Chelsea knew they only had the best intentions at heart.  That didn’t mean she wouldn’t be annoyed with them babying her, or angry at her body for limiting her with even the simplest of tasks.

_‘Sam and Dean never had to deal with this sorta thing…. Always in peak physical performance, able to get the job done without breaking a sweat…’_

Chelsea sat bitterly with her thoughts for a moment.  Even in this alternate universe life had a way of still crapping on her.  Eventually, she let out a long sigh and tilted her head back to stare at the ceiling.  Her mother had taught her that it never did anyone any good stewing over what others had that they didn't.  Giving her head a shake, Chelsea forced herself up and set about unpacking the bags and boxes so she could set up the room.

* * *

 Chelsea had barely been awake for more than an hour when Sam and Dean came strolling through the front door of the bunker.  “Welcome home,” she greeted from behind a hot mug of coffee. “How’d everything go?”

“Well Alex is suddenly single,” Sam stated casually as he reached the base of the bunker stairs.

“Huh?”

“He was a vampire. Tried to kill everyone. Claire beheaded him,” Dean clarified.

“What the hell did I miss?”

“A lot.” Dean threw his duffel on the table and flopped into the chair beside Chelsea. “So, what have you been up to besides being too nosey?”

“Hey, I know for a fact that _both_ of you have gone through my stuff at least twice, so I don’t wanna hear it.” Chelsea stared accusingly at the older Winchester.

“It was one time,” Dean argued, “And that was because you suddenly threw yourself in front of my car and we didn’t know what the hell was going on.”

“So? That doesn’t automatically give you the right to go digging in my stuff when I’m unconscious!”

“How is that any different than you goin’ through our rooms when we’re not home?” Dean rebuked with a wave of his hand.

“Because at least I was straight up about doing it.”

Sam quietly watched the two bicker back and forth, uncertain if it would escalate from friendly banter between roommates to a full-blown argument.  It was ridiculous how similar they were in personality.  Both of them were stubborn, and both of them thought they were in the right.  It was good that she kept Dean on his toes, and her simply being there allowed Sam to have some much-needed alone time every now and then.  Sam was quickly pulled from his musings when Chelsea dragged him into the conversation too.

“And _you_ Mr. Health-Food-Forever… You seriously get on my ass for having a sweet tooth when you’ve got at least three bags’ worth of Andes Mints wrappers stashed under your bed!”

"Woah say what now?" Apparently, Dean hadn't been in the know regarding his brother's secret candy craving.

“Oh yeah. And there’s a half-empty bag with some candy still in it under there too.”

“Hold on, why am I getting dragged into this!?” Sam had expected honestly expected her to go snooping through Dean’s things from the get-go.  Plus, she told them basically day one that she had been a fan of the show, which was exactly why he wasn’t entirely surprised when Dean told him.  But Sam’s room?  It was like living with a second Dean Winchester; not good.  “Why were you going through _my_ room? Dean’s I get, but _mine_?!”

“Hey!”

“You two are so damn secretive that other than what they showed on tv, it feels like I don’t crap about you.  I wanted to see if I could find anything out that I didn’t already know.  Besides, you went snooping through my stuff first so, fair is fair,” Chelsea stated matter-of-factly as she crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair.

“Ohhhhh no no no,” Dean interjected.  He then leaned forward and pointed at her, a now serious expression on his face.  “You’re in our world now, sweetheart.  Our universe, our bunker, _our_ rules.  You’re just a guest here, alright?  So, you don’t get to go playing detective wherever you want, doing whatever you want, when we’re not home.  Got it?”

“Dean…” Sam gave his brother a warning, watching Chelsea tense at his words.  This conversation was quickly turning nasty.

“No, Sam.  This is our home, not hers.  She’s gotta learn to respect that,” Dean cut him off. “You wanna get to know us so bad? Then your ass is getting dragged out on the road with us.  The full Winchester experience: cheap motels, crap food, the whole nine.  Got it?”

“Fine. Go find us a case.”

Chelsea pushed away from the table and marched out the library, and down the hall.  Sam and Dean both stared after her in confusion while they attempted to process her response.  Dean looked up at Sam, who was still standing next to the table, trying to figure out what just happened.  Both men's faces were a mixture of "what the fuck" and "huh." A few moments passed before Sam finally broke the silence.

“Did-did she _plan_ that?”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy President's Day!! This chapter is quite a bit angsty but things should pick up after this. Unfortunately, I think I no longer have anyone to beta my stuff so all errors are mine/were not caught by Grammarly.
> 
> Also (just in case), trigger warning: this chapter has mention of a panic attack and while it's not in huge detail, I figured I should still warn as a precaution.
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy it!

Chelsea maneuvered her way through the halls of the bunker, Dean’s words still ringing in her ears:

_'You’re just a guest here...  This is our home, not hers.' **  
**_

She soon found herself once again at the door to the newly completed art room.  Her head felt like it was buzzing with static electricity, her throat tight, and her face hot.  Chelsea knew she was impulsive; her dad used to tell her all the time to think things through all the way before acting.  It was one of her flaws, one that consistently got her in trouble in the past.

Opening the door to room 7D, Chelsea gave the room a look-over.  Not even 12 hours prior she had been excited after having finished setting the room up precisely the way she liked.  Two tall, wooden easels stood in the far-right corner of the room while a large drawing table had been assembled and placed next to the long table along the left wall.  An oversized, purple bean bag chair and chrome colored mini fridge were tucked away into a small nook on the other side of the large metal shelving unit next to the door.  The floor underneath the easels was covered in a large, canvas tarp while a fluffy rug adorned the lounge corner.  It was clean, airy, cozy, and a perfect workspace; everything Chelsea could possibly want in an art studio.  Now, however, she regretted ever coming up with the idea.

Closing the door, the weary houseguest backtracked down the hallway towards the showers in hopes that the fresh steam and hot water would soothe her anxiety.

_‘Not like I’ll be able to enjoy it much longer I guess…’_

Chelsea bitterly steeped in her thoughts as she walked.  She could hear the brothers talking loudly in the library, no doubt about her.  She didn’t care to eavesdrop on their conversation, however.  She had snooped enough already and didn’t particularly want to listen to Dean most likely attempting to convince his younger brother to send her away.  She didn’t belong there, after all, according to Dean.

Chelsea had been correct, of course.  Sam and Dean were indeed talking about her, just not in the way she expected.  While Chelsea was busy stewing in her thoughts and letting the hot water ease her troubles, Sam was busy laying into Dean.

“’You’re just a guest’? C’mon dude, seriously?”

“Shut-up.”

“No, Dean, that was fucked up!”

“She shouldn’t have been snooping around!” the older Winchester snapped before taking a swig of the whiskey he poured for himself.

“So, you basically tell her she doesn't belong here?  Dean, we _told_ her to make herself at home!”

“So, what?  She automatically gets a free pass to do whatever the hell she wants when we’re not here!?”

“Of course not, but that doesn’t mean you gotta smack her in the face like that!  She was homeless for _two years_!  Hell, she _still_ thinks we’re gonna toss her out the first chance we get!" Sam reprimanded his jaw tense. 

“She knows we won’t do that,” Dean dismissed as he returned to his seat at the library table.

“Does she?  Because you just told her otherwise.  Dean, she hasn’t even put her clothes away in the dresser in her room…”

“Then where—”

“Still folded, in her bag.  Just in case we force her out.”  Sam cut off his brother’s question, “She only _just_ started keeping her shampoo in the showers last week.”

Dean stared quietly at Sam for a moment before looking away and draining what was left of his drink.  He didn’t mean to be so harsh.  Chelsea snooping around had riled him up a bit, and everything just sort of snowballed from there.  Though, if he was being honest with himself, that wasn’t even what got him going in the first place.  It was how _little_ her snooping had upset him that really bothered him.  If it had been anyone else, he would have torn them a new asshole, but Chelsea?  It was just a "yeah whatever," and that alarmed the crap out of him. 

Sam let out an exasperated sigh, pulling his brother from his thoughts.  

“Look, please just _calmly_ go talk to her?  At the very least reassure her that she’s not getting evicted?  She may not show it, but what you say means a lot…”  With that, Sam left Dean alone in the library to contemplate his next move.  Dean wasn’t quite ready to admit he was wrong and, being the stubborn man he was, didn’t think that Chelsea was as upset as his brother did.

“Sam’s just overreacting again…” Dean muttered to himself as he grabbed his bag off the tabletop.  Heading past the kitchen, the older hunter made his way to his bedroom to cool off and unpack.  Sam’s words kept replaying over in his mind, however, rendering his task futile.  He was simply too distracted to even do something as menial as putting away clothes.  Not long into it, Dean heard soft footsteps draw near and looked up in time to see Chelsea freshly showered and dressed.  She paused a moment when she saw him, her damp tresses cascading around her face.  She had on loose, low-hung navy sweats and a fitted, light grey Henley.  Her shirt hugged newly re-developed curves in all the right places, drawing in Dean’s attention and appreciation.

_‘Damn, she’s lookin’ good…’_

Dean glanced up to see Chelsea’s brow raised in questioning, confused as to why he was staring.

“Sup?”

Chelsea watched him another moment before continuing onwards to her room without saying a word.  Her head was still noisy from earlier, and she just did not have the energy to talk to anyone at the moment.  Dean furrowed his brow in a mix of confusion and concern.  There was no playful banter, no light flirting, no asking for details on the case they just wrapped up; nothing.

Dean tossed what was in his hands on the bed and made his way after her.  One of his biggest pet peeves was being given the silent treatment and being blatantly ignored.  If he didn’t believe it before, he certainly did now; Chelsea was obviously upset over what he had said in the library.  When he reached her room just a few doors down from his, he saw her gently towel-drying her hair in a daze, deep in thought.  Leaning against the doorframe, Dean cleared his throat and caught her attention. “Hey.”

“Hey?”

“You uh—You got a minute?” Chelsea shrugged at Dean’s question and leaned against the desk.  "Okay… Well, I wanted to talk to you about earlier." 

“Which part?” Chelsea asked as she set the towel down beside her and crossed her arms.

Dean took a step forward into the room as he spoke, “All of it, I guess.  Look I can tell you’re upset—”

“It really doesn’t matter whether or not I’m upset, Dean,” she cut him off, “You’re right.  It _is_ your home, and I am just a guest here.   I shouldn't have stepped outta line. It won’t happen again.”

“Chels…” Dean began with a sigh, “that’s not what I meant.”

Chelsea clenched her jaw, feeling the heat rising in her face and beginning to feel nauseous once again.  She really didn't want to be having this conversation with him.

“Doesn’t matter what you meant; it matters what you said, Dean,” she replied curtly, trying hard to maintain her composure.

Dean could feel his stomach twist a bit; _of course,_ Sam was right about her being upset.  He could tell from her rigid body language that she was mad at him.  Dean was really starting to wish he hadn't opened his stupid trap back in the library but, yet again, he had dug himself a hole.  Dean let out another sigh as he ran a hand down his face in frustration. 

“Chels, I’m sorry.   I didn’t mean what I said.  This place,” he waved a hand around signifying the bunker, “it’s your home, too.  You _know_ that.”

“Do I?”

“What?”

"Do I know that?  Because, no offense but, uh…  You're so back-and-forth with what you're thinking and how you really feel that you kinda give a girl whiplash,” Chelsea stated bluntly.  She could feel her arms tremble slightly from how tightly she had them crossed against her chest.  “Don’t try to argue that you’re not, Dean.  It’s kinda your thing.  I've been watching yours and Sam's lives for years, so I know your M.O." 

Dean could feel the heat begin to rise in his face as she spoke. “Oh, right.  I forgot that you're little miss know-it-all. You think you know so much about us because you watched some stupid, fake-ass tv show," Dean's voice raised slightly as he snarked back in response. 

"Oh really, Dean?  Maybe in my world, it was all fake but here?  You and Sam actually did all that shit!  The apocalypse, screwing Anna and Ruby, getting Sam's soul back, your bromance with Benny, the way the mark affected you… I know it all Dean!  You keep treating me like some ignorant outsider.  Whether you like it or not, I probably know you better than you know yourself at this point!”

“Newsflash, sweetheart, you _are_ an outsider!” Dean bit back as he took a step forward, “We don’t know shit about you.  Aside from what we learned at the hospital when we first met and what you’ve let slip here and there, you’re still foreign to us.  Hell, we still don’t even know how you fucking got here!  For all we know, Amara could have sent you!”

"Fuck Amara!  Dammit, Dean, you haven't even _tried_ to get to know me!” Chelsea shouted back.

“Like hell I haven’t!”

“Simply putting up with me while you work on your car doesn’t count!  Not once have you even bothered to ask me about my life or the shit I’ve been through!”  Angry tears pricked at the corners of Chelsea’s eyes.  She could feel her chest tighten slightly. “Hell, the first two weeks I was here you stomped around with a bad attitude and brooding, acting like it was such a burden to let me stay in your practically _empty_ bunker.”

“I don’t fucking brood.”

"That's a lie, and you know it, Dean." Dean scoffed at Chelsea's statement; they were practically chest-to-chest now. "You run around here with a bad attitude 90% of the time and don't trust anyone but yourself.  Hell, the only reason you put up with me and started playing nice was that Sam guilt-tripped you over the weird, sick girl and because you found out we like the same damn music.  If it weren't for Sam, you wouldn’t even fucking keep me around!”

“Why would I give a rat’s ass about getting to know you when you run around here like you’re in a damn theme park?  Half the time you act like a damn robot and just sit there in your own weird little world!”

“Fine Dean! Let’s go ahead and fix this right now. Whatcha wanna know?  Wanna know how when I was eight, I watched my mom hemorrhage while doctors did nothing, killing her and my unborn little sister?  Or how about how that fucking destroyed my dad and that even after almost ten years he wasn’t ever the same?  Or hell! Maybe that I still have fucking nightmares from the crash because I woke up briefly before paramedics arrived and saw my dad’s bloody, mangled corpse _staring_ at me.  Because it’s _my_ fault my dad fucking died, Dean!!”

Hot tears were rolling down Chelsea’s cheeks in full force.  She could feel her throat tightening up and was beginning to have trouble breathing.  The pain in her chest was getting worse and worse.  Dean's anger was starting to dissipate as Chelsea spoke, getting replaced with concern as he noticed her body locking up.

“Chelsea?”

"Why would… I… want to…"  Chelsea's face began to contort as she struggled to breathe.  No matter how hard she tried, she could barely get a breath.

"Chelsea!?" Dean grabbed her arms as she began to collapse, clutching her chest, "Hang on, breathe for me, sweetheart!  Chelsea, where are your meds!?"  Dean quickly glanced around the room, and he lowered her to the floor.  Panic replaced any of the anger that was left in Dean as Chelsea made a horrible choking gasp and struggled to breathe.  

Locating the pills on her nightstand, Dean rushed over and grabbed the nitroglycerin tablets that the hospital had prescribed Chelsea when she was first admitted.  Forcing the medicine between her tongue and cheek, Dean talked her through her breathing while waiting for the pill to dissolve and take effect.  He had one hand resting gently on her back while the other supported himself as he knelt beside her.

“C’mon, sweetheart, breathe for me.  Copy what I’m doing…” Dean coaxed as he drew a slow, deep breath and rubbed her back.  After what felt like an incredibly long two minutes, Chelsea’s breathing finally leveled out and the chest pain dissipated.   Completely worn out, Chelsea collapsed against the older hunter, who scoped into his lapped and wrapped his arms around her as he continued to coach her breathing.  Chelsea wrapped her arms around Dean’s midsection and buried her head into his chest; her mind was still spiraling a bit with her emotions. 

“Please, Dean… Please don’t make me leave…” she whimpered eventually, burying her head further into his flannel, “I don’t want to be alone again…”

Dean let out a sigh as he drew her closer to him, one hand still on her back while the other came up to cup her head.  The whole situation had spiraled out of control horribly and, admittedly, his nerves were now a little shot from having watched her have a coronary.  He understood that feeling of guilt and loneliness she kept shut away.  Hell, it had gotten him and Sam in trouble more times than he could count.

Closing his eyes, Dean gently rested his cheek on Chelsea’s head and pulled his arms a little bit tighter around her.

“I’m not gonna make you leave, sweetheart.  I promise.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for being patient everyone! This chapter turned out much longer than I expected but hey, as of right now we are over halfway thru (provided I stick to the current chapter count). In about 2 chapters from now, things will start heating up a little so get ready! Also, I went ahead and added a little something to Chapter 1- the fic collage I made back when this series first started. Hope y'all like it! Feel free to let me know what you think and where you think things are gonna end up!

In the weeks that followed the fight between Dean and Chelsea, things became somewhat tense around the bunker.  She had begun avoiding the older Winchester like the plague, no longer keeping him company when he worked on his precious Baby.  Nowadays, she elected to sit quietly with Sam in the library or lock herself away in the secret art room, trying to work through her emotions in artwork.  Dean still announced when he was going to hole up in the garage, working on Baby. Now, however, Chelsea remained seated with her head bowed and avoiding eye contact.  He'd just quietly sigh after a moment or two and make his way through the bunker, secretly wishing she'd join him again.

On more than one occasion, Sam encouraged Chelsea to end the supposed feud between her and his brother.  Poor Sam was stuck in the middle and had surprisingly no idea what happened that night in her bedroom.  At the risk of being even further mortified, Chelsea was more than thankful that Dean had kept the incident to himself.

"C'mon, Chels. _Please_ talk to him?"

"Sam…"

"He didn't mean what he said.  You know how Dean gets when he's in a mood!  He spoke without thinking, and now he's sulking like a child," Sam once again pleaded.

"That's not the problem, Sam. It's just…  It's personal, OK? So just drop it."

Sam sighed in resignation.  Chelsea was just as guarded as Dean and twice as stubborn.  Neither of them had held a normal conversation in weeks, let alone stayed in the same room together.  Although, he had noticed that Chelsea was the one doing most of the avoiding.  It was true, his brother had acted like an ass in the library after the hunt with Claire, but the punishment and duration seemed somewhat excessive.  Unfortunately, it did not look like things were going to clear up anytime soon.

"Fine.  But you can't go on avoiding him forever."

Chelsea fiddled with her pencil a moment as she became lost in thought.  She wasn't avoiding Dean because she was angry or hurt by what he said, at least not anymore.  Truth be told, she was avoiding him out of embarrassment and damaged pride; she was mortified by what happened during the argument in her room.  Not only had her emotions completely ran away with her, but she essentially proved that she is incapable of handling even the slightest inconvenience.  Never in her life had things gotten to the point where her body revolted and crashed due to emotional distress.

Ever since her father died the day before her 18th birthday, Chelsea had been alone and without any sort of support for the most part.  When she relocated to Fredericksburg, she briefly made friends.  But they all ignored her and moved on with their lives almost immediately after she had been laid off the first time.  Admittedly, being abandoned by people she thought cared during perhaps the roughest point in her life had left Chelsea somewhat jaded.  She had tried to relax and let her guard down since being taken in by the Winchesters, but that was easier said than done.  Now, considering recent events, her walls had built back up and were freshly cloaked in the shame of knowing her body couldn't handle human emotions.

* * *

 It wasn't until mid-February that the infamous hunters picked up a new case; just in time for Valentine's Day.  Chelsea had never particularly cared about the commercialized holiday, not that she had anyone to celebrate it with either.  It had been roughly six years since she had been in a relationship. Even back then, the holiday had been less than thrilling.  To her, it was just another day, although she did look forward to half-priced chocolates the day after.

_‘Unattached Grifter Christmas… Dean will be happy.'_

Chelsea thought bitterly to herself as she continued to lay in bed and stare at the ceiling.  She could feel her face grow flush and her stomach twice slightly at the idea of Dean going out and getting lucky.  Chelsea had no right to be jealous, all things considering.  Hell, she didn't even know why the idea bothered her.  She was still avoiding conversations and being alone in the same room as him; man, she was pathetic.  Why type of grown-ass woman behaves like this?  Chelsea let out a huff after mentally berating herself, once again, and got out of bed surprisingly before ten. 

Making her way through the long, winding halls of the bunker, Chelsea paused briefly when she heard the brothers' voices coming from the kitchen.  She knew Sam was right; this stalemate between her and Dean couldn't go on forever.  Still, Chelsea was too embarrassed by her breakdown and subsequent coronary to return to the way things were before, whatever that was.  Swallowing hard, she mustered up some courage and continued onward to the promise of hot coffee.  She was about to round the doorway when she caught the tail-end of the boys' conversation.

"Is that a hickey?"

"Yeah? So? Didn't exactly make it very far…"

"Wait, hold on a sec.  Are you seriously telling me that _you_ , Dean Winchester, struck out?"  Chelsea could hear the surprise, and slight amusement, in Sam's voice.  Admittedly, she was surprised herself.  Dean was rugged, handsome, and had a fantastic ass; he was tall, muscular, and the object of most women's dirty fantasies.  So, for him to strike out on the one night where just about anyone could score meant he was really off his game.  And if Chelsea was completely honest, knowing that left her feeling just a little bit pleased. Though, for the life of her, she couldn't understand why.

"And? It happens!?"

"Wow. You are losing your touch."

"Yeah? And what'd you do judgy? Curl up in your snuggie? Watch _50 Shades_ on cable?" Dean snapped back at his bemused, younger brother.

_‘God, that movie was awful.  That's not even how BDSM actually works!'_

"Yeah. No.  Check this out."

Chelsea smiled a bit; she had missed listening to the back-and-forth between them.  Tensions being what they, however, meant there was a severe decrease in playful banter around the bunker.  Finally stepping into the kitchen, Chelsea quietly shuffled around the two men, hoping to sneak to the coffee pot mostly unnoticed.  Carrying on with her morning routine, she listened in as Sam explained a case he found to Dean.

"If her name's not Amara, how is that us?"

"Because her heart was ripped out," Sam stated bluntly.

"On Valentine's Day?"

"Yeah."

"Mm," Dean pondered for a moment, "Was it, like, an ironic werewolf?" Chelsea let out a puff of air in amusement, which both brothers noticed, although they did not say anything.  "Alright, we'll check it out.  That means you too, princess."

"Wait, what!?" Chelsea almost dropped her mug in surprise as she whipped around to look at the older Winchester.

"You heard me.  You said to find a case.  Well, we've got a case."

"Dean, are you sure?"  Sam cast a cautionary glance at Chelsea.  The situation between his brother and their female housemate remained unresolved and awkward.  How much worse it would be with the three of them crammed in the car together for a 15-hour road trip?  Not to mention, Sam had reservations about her joining them on a hunt.  While it was true that she progressed in leaps and bounds with her physical training, recently she had stopped making any progress despite an increase in the regiment.  Considering the types of exercise he put her through, along with the increase in circuit and weights, there was no reason for her to plateau.  She was no longer building up strength from their routines, but she wasn't exactly losing weight or muscle either. 

"Absolutely," Dean answered while staring intensely at Chelsea.  His face was calm but set.  There was something else behind his expression, but Chelsea couldn't quite place her finger on it.  Being the stubborn woman that she was, Chelsea was not about to back down from a challenge.

"Sounds like a plan to me.  Could use a little experience under my belt."

"Awesome. Go pack your stuff. We'll be heading out shortly.  But first, I need bacon."

"No, first you need a shower," Sam interjected.  Chelsea leaned forward and gave Dean a sniff before scrunching her nose in disgust.

"Is it—Woah!  Yeah, no, you're not wrong."

* * *

For the most part, the trek to Ohio was downright boring.  Dean had blared classic rock almost the entire trip, not that Chelsea minded.  It had helped ease the otherwise uncomfortable silence.  At first, Sam had attempted to engage everyone in conversation regarding just about anything but eventually relented after dean cranked the volume on the radio.  Throughout the drive, Dena would glance up briefly to watch Chelsea in his rear-view.  For a while, she seemed content to just watch out the window and take in the passing scenery.  Eventually, she got bored and turned to her favorite hobby, once again lost between the pages of her sketchbook.

Dean wanted so badly to get her to finally talk to him but was wary of accidentally sending her over the edge again.  At the same token, he hated the way things had come between them.  If it were anyone else, Dean would have made a smart-ass comment and carried on as usual, but with her it was different.  He genuinely missed her company in the usual bustling around their secret base.  He was also growing increasingly frustrated with the silent treatment she was giving him. 

_‘Is she still upset about that stupid guest comment?  I told her I didn't mean it dammit!  Wait…  She probably blames me for that freaking heart attack…  Fuck, I should have just listened to Sam and not gotten her worked up.  Never admitting that one.  Maybe I should ask her about her sketchbook?  She's always drawing in that thing?  Wait, is this one new?  When did she get a new one?  Wonder how many she's filled up…  What's she drawing anyway?  Wonder if she's ever drawn me?  God that would look like shit with the way things are now…  Fuck, this sucks.'_

Dean was making his head spin.

"Who's hungry?"  Dean suddenly spoke up roughly ten hours into their journey.  He wasn't actually hungry, though he would never turn down food.  He just wanted an excuse to stop and try to finally get Chelsea to talk to him.

"Yeah, I could eat," Sam answered before turning around to look at their companion, "What do you say, Chels?"

"Sure, I guess," she shrugged.

"Awesome.  There's this small shack Sam and I like to stop at just up ahead," Dean nodded towards the road, "Sammy, you can grab the grub, and I'll top Baby off."

It suddenly dawned on Chelsea that that meant she would be left alone with Dean for the first time since the incident in her room.  She quickly realized that Dean was doing this on purpose.

"Why don't I just run in?  I could do to stretch my legs a bit."

"Naw, Sam's got it.  The staff knows him, and he knows our regular orders by heart.  He'll be in-and-out, right Sammy?" Dean gave his brother a look that spoke a thousand words.  Sam must've caught on to Dean's plan because he smiled and nodded in agreement.

"It's fine, Chels.  I got it."

_‘You fucking traitor…'_

Fifteen minutes later, the trio pulled up to the food dive Dean had mentioned, which was also a combo gas station.  Sam hurried along inside before Chelsea could try to argue again, instead leaving her alone in the car while Dean quickly topped the tank.  She was all pins and needles as she waited for Dean to finish, dreading the on-coming conversation.  Outside the Impala, Dean was tapping his foot impatiently, also anxious as he tried to sort out what he wanted to say.  In a matter of moments, the pump clicked, and Dean was already back behind the wheel.

"So. Are we gonna talk about it?" Dean asked as he turned around and watched her expectantly.

"Uhhhh..." Chelsea stared back at him, comically wide-eyed and tight-lipped.

"We can't keep doing this forever, kid.  And you can't just keep avoiding me," Dean stated with a sigh, "Look, I get if you're still mad but—"

"Dean, no.  It's not that," she interrupted, earning her a confused look.

Chelsea bit her bottom lip and looked out the back of the Impala.  She sat with her legs propped up on the back bench-seat and suddenly felt as if the car was horribly claustrophobic.  Chelsea wasn't ready for this conversation and didn't like opening herself up to people.  She felt oddly exposed under Dean's intense stare as he waited for her to continue.

"It's—Honestly, it's really…  Yeah…"

"That's descriptive.  Care to elaborate?"

"Not really."

"Chelsea…"

"Look, it's really stupid, OK?" Chelsea groaned as she closed her eyes.  She wanted so badly to disappear.

"Try me."

Chelsea let out another sigh, as Dean continued to watch her. Apparently, there was no avoiding the subject, and Dean was not someone to let stuff go.  The only way for her to go was forward.

"The issue isn't the fight," she began slowly, "I'm…  It's—It’s embarrassing.  I can't even be emotional without it causing some scene or medical problem.  I never let people see me like that and, well, you," Chelsea gestured to the older Winchester, "You saw it.  I mean, how fucking pathetic am I?  I'm so fucking damaged that my body can't handle even the simplest shit.  It's so fucking frustrating.  Hell, you guys were helping Claire with that case, and I went to the store for an hour or two--"

"Wait, you went out without us?"  Dean interrupted.  Chelsea ignored him and continued.

"And even that was too much!  I ended up passing out and didn't wake up until hours later, and even then, I was woozy for at least an hour."

"Hold up.  Chelsea, why didn't you tell us?!  You need to call us when that happens!"

"And what?  Have you two rush home to me when there was a very real threat that could have killed Jody, Claire, and Alex?  You two have already done more than enough for me!  I constantly feel like I'm just burdening you two so why the hell would I call and only make it worse?  This shouldn't be an issue!  I should be able to even just go out for a fucking walk without struggling, but I can't even do that!"

Chelsea's eyes were growing increasingly red.  The more she talked, the more frustrated she seemed to become.  Dean reached over the back of the seat and placed his hand just above her knee.  Chelsea looked down in her lap, watching her fingers twist anxiously as she struggled to contain tears that were threatening to spill over.  Dean took notice and gave her leg a light squeeze of encouragement.  She glanced up at him with a shaky breath, uncertain if she should continue, to which he gave a small nod.

"Point is, the whole situation is fucking embarrassing, Dean.  I'm embarrassed about how fucking weak I am; no matter what I do, it feels like I'm not getting any stronger or healthier.  I'm embarrassed that you saw me get so damn worked up.  Hell, I'm embarrassed I gave myself a damn heart attack!  Like, who has that happen!?  And you sat there and had to help me through it!  I couldn't look you in the eye after that!  And you and Sam…  You guys have been to literal hell and back.  You two have dealt with so much shit and keep taking punches, yet I'm the one making a scene.  Just how—"

"Chelsea, stop," Dean spoke up as he gave her leg another squeeze, "Look, Sam and I?  We're hunters, so horrible shit happening to us is kinda part of the job description.  Not gonna lie, our lives suck, but at this point we kinda expect it," he stated candidly, "But all the medical shit you've been dealing with and gettin' zapped here in the first place… Nobody prepped you for that.  I can't begin to understand what you're feeling—" 

"It feels like my body is constantly betraying me and fighting against me."

"And I know that's gotta piss you off, sweetheart.  I'm not you.  I'm not in your shoes, and you're not in ours.  Please don't just try and shut me out because your pride took a hit.  We know you're working your ass off to get better.  We know you're struggling.  We're also not gonna judge you because your body won't cooperate.  Now we told you when we met you that we'd help you get back in fighting shape.  Maybe not exactly hunter standards, but enough to give anyone a run for their money," Dean joked, attempting to lighten the mood.

Chelsea chuckled quietly and sniffed; she appreciated the effort.  Dean reached up for her hand and held it in his much larger one, gently rubbing the back of her hand with his thumb.

"But Chels, do not shut me out.  I can't help you when you're being stubborn.  And I sure as hell can't help you when you're giving me the silent treatment.  Helping people is part of what Sammy and I do. 

You are not burdening us."

Chelsea watched Dean for a moment, mouth slightly agape as she fully processed his words.  She honestly didn't know how to respond right away.  Dean Winchester may not be the best with his emotions, but the man sure knew how to give one hell of a pep talk.  After a long moment, Chelsea swallowed and nodded her head.

"Alright."

"Alright," Dean smiled softly at her and gave her hand a squeeze.  "Oh, and no more ditching me to go hang out with the resident Brainiac."

"Hey, to be fair, Sam doesn't pick fights with me every few minutes over who's the better classic rock band."

"Hey, I stand by Led Zepplin—"

"And I still stand firm with AC/DC," she stated matter-of-factly

"At least you have better taste in music than captain hair-metal. Oh, speak of the devil!"  Sam returned at that moment with their food orders, which Dean eagerly snatched from him the second he sat down.

Sam gave Dean a cold stare, "That's not funny."

"Fine, fine. Touchy," Dean mumbled as he dug out Chelsea's fries and passed them back to her.  She happily accepted them after smacking him squarely on the shoulder for swiping a few.

"You've got your own!  No stealing mine, greedy!"

"Oh, like you're gonna finish all that food?"

"Pfft, watch me!"

The younger Winchester laughed at the exchange, "Good to see you two are back to normal."

"Yeah, thanks for bailing on me, Benedict," Chelsea shoved the back of Sam's hair, pushing a bunch of his hair into his face just as he went to take a bite of his wrap.

"Hey, the silent treatment and longing stares across the bunker were getting unbearable to live with on a daily basis," Sam countered as he pushed his long locks back out of his face.

"What ‘longing stares' are you seeing?  Your eyesight's goin' from reading all the time."

"Yeah? You could stand to read a few more books.  Get yourself a bit of culture."

"Please, I'm plenty cultured," Dean argued with a mouthful of burger.

Once again, the Winchesters were bantering as siblings do from the front seat.  Chelsea happily ate her grilled chicken wrap as she watched the two men go back-and-forth.  As they pulled back out onto the interstate and continued onward to Hudson, Ohio, Chelsea couldn't help but think back on what Dean had said.  Her previous anxieties had been laid to rest, if only for the time being.  Still, she appreciated the peace of mind and comfort his words had given her.

Chelsea peeked up at the rear-view mirror and caught the older Winchester's eye.  Had his eyes always been so green?  With a small smirk, Dean shot her a wink, causing her to grin and look away.  A warm blush spread across her cheeks as she continued to eat her food from the comfort of the Impala's backseat.

Dean set his eyes back towards the road, attempting to refocus his attention on the remaining five-hour drive.  But his thoughts kept turning back to what Chelsea confessed to him, concern once again plaguing him.  He hadn't said anything to Sam, but ever since the incident in Chelsea's room a few weeks prior, Dean made several attempts to contact Castiel.  He had hoped that their angel friend would be able to heal her.  Unfortunately, all his calls and prayers had gone unanswered, which was always a bad sign.  Something just didn't feel right.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for being patient everyone! Sorry, this chapter is a bit longer than usual. Just like the last chapter, it follows S11, ep 13 "Love Hurts" but does have a little bit of divergence. Also we get to see a bit of Sam's perspective in this one. Hope y'all enjoy!

Sitting in on Sam and Dean interviewing the homeowners whose babysitter was killed was a little odd, to say the least.  Chelsea really had no clue how to conduct business, what questions to ask, etc., so she stood stoically in the doorway while the boys took the lead.  It was interesting to personally see them inaction, versus on a television screen.  She couldn't help but secretly appreciate how much nicer the Winchesters looked in the Fed suits compared to their everyday clothing.

Aimlessly wandering through the Harpers' living room, Chelsea began inspecting the built-in bookcases.  Everything was clean and organized; not a book nor trinket was out of place.  That is until she came to a fluffy, white, teddy bear that had an indent in its stomach from where something seemed to have been removed.

“Was anything stolen?  Any chance this may have been a robbery gone wrong?”  Sam patiently asked the distraught homeowners.

“I don’t think so,” Mrs. Harper shook her head, “I mean, nothing was missing… Except for the nanny cam in the living room.” Dean glanced over into the living room where Chelsea was discreetly snooping around the teddy bear.  Catching his gaze, Chelsea subtly lifted a black video wire attached to the bear’s back.

Nodding in acknowledgment, Dean turned back to the conversation as Sam was wrapping everything up,

"Thank you for your time.  Give us a call if something comes up."

“Okay, thank you.”

The trio made their way to the front door of the expansive house.  It was everything one would expect from an upper-middle class family in the suburbs.  An open foyer contained a large, curved staircase adorned with pristine, white, balusters.  Chelsea mentally appraised how nicely it contracted the rich, polished, hardwood floors.  Exiting the house, the hunters and hunter-in-training were greeted with a cool drizzle and pale skies.  The surrounding lawns across the neighborhood were well-manicured and contained within white-picket fences and well-trimmed hedges.  It was the sort of idyllic suburbia that most people strived to obtain but could rarely afford.

“Is it just me, or is that guy acting a bit hinky?” Sam asked as they descended the front steps.

“Yeah, I was thinking the same thing,” Dean agreed as he stepped in-time with Sam.

“Funny how tense and squirrely Mr. Harper got when you asked about Stacy having a boyfriend, or when Mrs. Harper mentioned the missing nanny cam,” Chelsea mused from behind the two men, “there was not a drop of blood on or around that bear soooooo….”

“You noticed that too, huh?” Dean glanced back at her, earning a shrug in response. “Wouldn’t need to hide the cam unless there was something you _wanted_ to hide.”

“Agreed. Let’s split up,” Sam stated definitely once they reached the Impala, “You can drop us off at the morgue and hit Dan at the office.”

“Yeah, maybe he’ll be a bit more open without his wifey around,” Dean agreed.

“Hope you’re not squeamish,” Sam teased the gumshoe hunter.

“Pfft. Puh-lease. Have you two smelled yourselves in the morning?  After dealing with daily man-stench and your dirty socks, I’m pretty sure I can handle anything,” Chelsea retorted confidently.  

Sam and Dean exchanged looks and laughed, “Guess we’ll find out.”

* * *

 

Chelsea quickly regretted her remark the moment she and Sam stepped into the autopsy room at the local morgue.  The Winchester brothers' morning B.O. had _nothing_ on the mixture of offensive smells that molested her nasal passages.  It was a combination of sterile chemicals, bodily fluid, and whoknows-what.  Then, there was the body itself; it was a messier in person than what it appeared on TV.  This was quickly becoming an experience Chelsea could have lived without. 

“Is she alright?” the coroner gestured towards Chelsea, who was staring pale and comically wide-eyed at the corpse lying on the steel table.  Her brows were furrowed at the site of the Harpers’ late babysitter.  Years of watching NCIS and Supernatural had done little to prepare Chelsea for the real deal.

“She’s new, Sam dismissed with a smile.  He knew this was going to happen.  Hell, it had taken him and Dean _years_ to get over being squeamish.  It was a hurdle that every newbie hunter had to cross, regardless of age or background.  The moment most people saw their first dead body, they either vomited or instantly checked-out. 

“-Ahem- Well, based on the autopsy, the vic was conscious when her heart was ripped out. Wouldn’t want a front-row seat to that show.” 

Sam scoffed in response, shifting his weight where he stood, “Any ideas what could have done this?”

“Typically, I’d assume animal attack.”

“In the house?”

“Exactly. Plus, no claw marks,” the coroner gestured towards the deceased babysitter, whom Chelsea was still staring at intensely. “I’ll be honest with you, agents. Been doing this for some 20 odd years and I’m stumped.” Where the babysitter’s heart would have been sat a large, red, gaping hole.  The longer she stared, the more nauseous Chelsea felt herself become.  Unfortunately, it was one of those things where no matter what, one just couldn’t look away.  She was going to regret this.

Nudging Chelsea out of the way, Sam took a picture of the victim’s wounds and bid adieu to the medical examiner. Sam had to drag his hypnotized companion from the room.  She was starting to get a greenish tint about her, and Sam had an idea as to what was soon to come.

The instant the pair stepped outside, Chelsea drew a deep breath of fresh air and began dry-heaving into a nearby bush.  Sam gently rubbed her back as he patiently waited for her to regain control of herself. 

“A lot worse than our ‘smelly socks’ huh?” Sam mused.  

“Hush,” Chelsea grumbled in response as she settled her stomach and took in another deep breath, “I’m never gonna hear the end of this, am I?”

Sam smirked at her remark, “Don’t worry, every new hunter goes through this.  At least Dean wasn’t the one to see you upchuck.  He teased me for years, even though he wasn’t much better.”

“That’s mildly comforting...”

“C’mon, the fresh air walking back should do you some good,” Sam nodded as he led her away from the now contaminated shrubbery.

Chelsea was grateful for the refreshing, calm weather on their walk back to the motel.  The light misting cooled her skin and helped to soothe her stomach.  Sam, although sympathetic to his younger friend's plight, was still amused by her previous tough-girl antics before their mortuary visit.  He and Dean had been around her long enough to see straight through the façade.

“You said you could handle it,” Sam teased as he strolled leisurely alongside her, making sure to keep pace with her much shorter strides.

"I feel like I got shoved face-first into the ‘Bog of Eternal Stench,'" Chelsea crinkled her nose in disgust. “Well, you are a brunette and did get transported to a strange land,” Sam shrugged.

“Hey, unless a magical king in tight pants tries to woo me to the musical stylings of David Bowie while I run around in a poufy dress, I'm not interested.” Chelsea pointed at the tall hunter with a scowl, causing Sam to laugh heartily.

“Oh, is that all? Glad to hear you have such realistic standards.”

“Hey, with everything I've been through, realistic went out the door a long time ago.”

“That's fair,” Sam conceded as he made a face.

Sam had to admit, it was nice having someone to talk to besides his brother.  Chelsea was quirky but funny and observant. She really brought a fresh perspective to their lives and kept things from getting dull. Although, at times Chelsea was just as stubborn and argumentative as the older Winchester brother.  Maybe that's why she and Dean got along so well?  They certainly kept each other on their toes and, when everything was smooth sailing, made each other laugh.  It was refreshing to see Dean genuinely smile and relax for what seemed like the first time in years. 

Sam wasn't blind; he could see the writing on the wall the moment she inserted herself into Dean's "me time."  Dean wasn't always the biggest people person so for him to fall into a routine with their unexpected housemate was a surprising yet welcomed sight.  He wanted to say something to both of them, push for them a bit.  But his brother was stubborn and would most likely shut Chelsea out, not to mention the newly resolved tensions that plagued the bunker the past few weeks.  No, Sam figured it was best to let them slowly come together on their own.  He just hopes that things didn’t once again crash and burn like they always seemed to whenever Dean got close to someone.

Sam and Chelsea made it back to the motel without issue.  After scurrying off her room next door to change into something more comfortable, Chelsea returned to the boys' room to aid Sam in research.  Unfortunately, things were slow going, and all leads were dead ends.  When Dean finally arrived about an hour or so later, they still hadn't made any headway.

“Yo,” Sam greeted from his spot on the motel couch.  He was sprawled across it, long legs crossed with his laptop perched in his lap.  Chelsea, however, had bested rather comfortably into the pillows on one of the beds with several books.

“Hey. Find anything?" Dean asked as he set a brown takeaway bag down on the table.  He had, thankfully, stopped to grab everyone food.

“Uh, yeah—Jack.  Absolutely _nothing_ points to werewolf.”

“Well step aside, Urkel,” Dean pulled an SD card from his suit pocket and inserted it into Sam's laptop, “it was Dan that stole the nanny cam.”

“Why?” Sam asked.  Chelsea shut the book she was previously reading and swung her legs off the side of the bed, listening with interest.

“He was stooping the babysitter,” Dean answered after giving his brother a pointed look.

“I _knew_ it!” Chelsea exclaimed.  Dean pointed at her and gave a silent “atta-girl" raise of his eyebrows. 

 Sam came to a sudden realization, “Wait a minute. I thought Dan was at dinner with Melissa?”  Mr. Harper had told them earlier that he and his wife had gone out to dinner that evening to a favorite but upscale restaurant, which Melissa had confirmed.

“That's not Dan.”

Chelsea pondered briefly before the obvious answer sprung to mind, just as Sam saw the eye flare in the video. “Shifter,” they stated in unison.

“Yahtzee.”

Unfortunately, the very next morning, the hunters received a call alerting them to the death of Mr. Harper.  He had been found in his office, heart ripped out the same way Stacy's was.  Sam proceeded to dress in his fed clothes while he left his brother to awaken the hypertensive beast in the next room.  Unlike his brother, Dean tended to have a much easier time waking Chelsea up in the mornings; probably because Dean also appreciated being able to roll out of bed at an hour much later than the asscrack of dawn.

Dodging a well foreseen hit to the head, the older Winchester gently but firmly roused his nocturnal companion, “C'mon, Sleeping Beauty, the case is waitin'.  We’ve got another dead body.”

“Wha-? Oh crap,” Chelsea mumbled groggily as she slowly regained consciousness.  

Dean kept poking at her head and shoulders, annoying her awake like any friend would.  “OHMYGOD STOP IT YOU ASS!” Chelsea roared as she smacked him in the face with one of the pillows from the bed, attempting to push the obnoxious hunter away.  Dean simply laughed as he twisted away from the pillow and dragged Chelsea onto the floor, careful not to hit her head. “Chop, chop!  Time to work!”

* * *

 

“You were the last person to see your boss alive.  Did you see anything?” Dean questioned Dan Harper’s secretary.  Chelsea was staring wide-eyed with furrowed brows as the medics bagged the body and wheeled it out of the office.  She was probably _never_ going to get used to this…

“Nothing unusual per se,” she began, thinking back to the events of the night before, “Just kind of rude.

This young girl, brunette, couldn’t have been more than 19 barreled out of the elevator as I was leaving. Nearly knocked me over.”

“Is this her?” Sam questioned, showing her a picture of the Harpers’ deceased babysitter.

“Yeah. That’s the girl.”

“Thank you for your time ma’am,” Dean nodded, turning away with his brother and catching Chelsea by the elbow.  The trio waited until they were out of earshot before discussing the case further.

“Well.  Confirms we’re dealing with a shifter,” Sam concluded.

"Yeah. Who's upping its game by impersonating dead people. I'm guessing it's the wife."

"Think she knew about the affair?" Chelsea questioned.  She hated to admit it, but she loved all the scandal and gossip that came along with this case. So-and-so is sneaking around with the nanny, blahblah did whatnot, and so on.  It was part of the reason why she secretly used to enjoy watching soap operas when she was younger; Chelsea lived for gossip and drama, though she hated partaking in any herself.

“Yeah,” Sam confirmed with a nod.

As it turned out, Melissa not only knew about the affair, she also paid her hairstylist, a supposed "white witch," for a "Return to Love Spell."  Unfortunately, it was instead one that incited the wrath of a creature known as a Qareen, essentially a bound djinn that would kill anyone who received the "kiss of death."  Based on what Melissa spilled to them after her recently deceased husband attempted to kill her, so long as the spell transmitted to someone else via a kiss, the original victim was safe. It was, as Dean so eloquently put, "Like a magic STD."  So naturally, to stop the monster from going after Melissa Harper, Dean kissed her.  Chelsea and Sam were both annoyed that Dean would jump at the risk, but she also felt a twinge of jealousy while her stomach twisted into knots.

The trio, along with Melissa had gone to her hairstylist’s salon to confront her and/or find a way to reverse the curse.  After further confirming what Melissa told them back at the motel room, the group decided to split up and search for the creature’s heart.  Chelsea was sent off to begrudgingly stay with Melissa while the Winchesters searched the upstairs and basement.  It wasn’t long before they could hear shouts and crashing coming from inside the salon.  Running inside, Chelsea and Melissa were greeted by Sonja the hairdresser, who promptly threw the two women across the room.

Of course, like any villain, Sonja monologued a bit, which Chelsea was thankful for as she snuck around the room to get closer to the Qareen’s black heart.  Melissa shouted to get her attention, attempt to make her stop, which provided just enough time for Sam to shoot her with a witch-killing bullet.  Wasting no time, Chelsea snatched up the knife Sam was intending to use and stabbed the heart.  Relieved that the case was finally over, the worn-out hunter-in-training slumped against the door to the basement while Sam went to check on Dean.  Chelsea could feel her heartbeat racing and was trying to relax enough for it to slow down, wary of the potential for the murmur to trip.  When the two brothers emerged a moment later, Dean stopped a moment to stare at her before continuing up the stairs.

“Everything good?” she asked, still breathing heavily.

“Yep,” Dean said with a pop.  He stopped before her, watching her once again before clasping his hand to her cheek.  It took everything in her power to not melt into his touch. “You alright?  Your heart’s not tripping again, is it?”

“No. We’re good.  It’s settling down,” she answered with a sigh.

"You have the pills with you?" he asked.  Chelsea could swear his eyes held that look again as if there was something hidden behind them. “Yeah but I think I’ll be ok.”

“Awesome,” Dean moved his hand to her arm and rubbed it gently before heading to the front door.  Chelsea watched him briefly, confused by the exchange.  Shaking her head, she followed behind him, ready to head back to the motel and sleep.

Back at the motel room, Sam couldn't wait any longer.  He had seen the interaction between his brother and Chelsea and was itching to know whether his theory was right. “So. You gonna keep me in suspense here or what?”

“About what?”

“Who was it? Bach or Simpson?” Sam bluffed.  He knew damn well that, despite what Dean had said before everything hit the fan, Daisy Duke was not what the Qareen appeared to him as. “Neither.”

“Huh?”

“It was Amara,” Dean answered, looking up at him.  Sam had to admit, it wasn’t the answer he was expecting or hoping to hear, but he couldn’t say he was surprised either. 

Sam leaned against the table by the window, “That surprise you?”

“That doesn’t surprise you?” Dean asked indignantly.

“Honestly?”

“Honestly? You seriously think the sister of God is my deepest darkest desire?” Sam could hear the tension in his brother’s voice.

“She isn’t?”

“No! She can’t be!”

“Why not?” Sam asked calmly.  This was a very sensitive subject for Dean so reacting a particular way would not help the situation.

“Why? Because if she is that means that I’m…” Dean trailed off.  He was afraid to admit out loud what he had been thinking.

“Means you’re what? Complicit? Weak? Evil?”

“For starters, yeah,” Dean’s voice now had a tone of shame in it.

“Dean. Do you honestly think you ever had a choice in the matter? She's the sister of God, and for some reason she picked you, and that sucks, but if you think I'm gonna blame you or judge you…I’m not.”

“You know that I want her ass dead," Dean was trying to make himself feel better.  It was almost as if he thought he could reason it away like the monster had been lying.

“Yes. Of course,” Sam soothed, “And I know you’ve also probably beaten yourself up a hundred times over it, but where has that gotten us?”  Sam paused to let the words sink in.  He wanted Dean to know that he understood, that he was there for him.  After having had the Mark of Cain for almost two years, Amara being his desire was of no surprise to him.  But the Mark was just as sore, if not a more tender subject for the older Winchester, so Sam chose his words carefully.

After a long silence, Sam spoke up again, “Just how bad is it?”

“Standing here right now, every bone in my body wants to run her through. Send her back to that hole she crawled out of,” Dean visibly tensed as frustration rolled off him, “But when I'm near her, I don't know. Something happens, and I can't explain it, but to call it desire or love…it's not that. I'm screwed, man. We wanna kill the darkness. We need to kill the darkness. And I don’t think I can. I’m sorry to do that to you, ya know, but when it comes right down to it…” “I got it, Dean.”

The two men both grabbed their bags and went to exit the motel room when Dean suddenly stopped.  Dropping his duffel, the older Winchester wiped his hands over his face as he released a heavy sigh.

“There’s something else…”

“What?”

“It… Turned into Chelsea first,” Dean admitted with another sigh.  Sam’s eyebrows shot to his hairline; so, he was correct after all.  But for the Qareen to turn into both Chelsea _and_ Amara?  That was a conundrum.

“Huh. Well,” Sam began as he carefully chose his wording, “You two have been getting close and get along well, for the most part.”

“Sam, I can’t want her.  You know what happens to everyone we get close to.”

Sam knew all too well what Dean was talking about.  Jo, Ellen, Charlie, Kevin… The list could go on-andon.  He understood what his brother wanted to protect her, keep her safe.  But what could be done given the situation?  She had nowhere else to go, and the bunker was still the safest place for her.

“Don’t get mad but, would it be so bad if you did?” Sam asked cautiously.

Dean turned around but didn’t look at him yet, “I guess you forgot what happened to the last—” Dean stopped himself.  It may have been almost five years, but he never forgot about what happened with Lisa and Ben.  After all these years, it still hurt knowing that he couldn't protect them when he needed to.  Instead, Dean had Cas wipe all memory of him from their lives under the misguided belief it was the best thing for them.

"I didn't forget Dean.  But don't base what happened then with what's happening now," Sam encouraged.  It may not be the best idea in the world, but Sam was a firm believer that Dean deserved happiness.  And if he could get that with Chelsea?  Well, that would just make everything better.

“And what’s happening now exactly?” Dean asked with an edge to his voice.

“What do _you_ think is happening?”

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UPDATED 3/28/2019- See a/n at end of chapter

The trio had barely been back at the bunker a day before Sam found a way to possibly take care of the Amara situation.  After researching through the night and powering through the remaining half a bag of coffee, Sam discovered records pertaining to a "Hand of God"—a powerful God-touched object dating back to biblical times that was rumored to have contained a bit of God's power.  According to a set of files known as the "Vichy Memorandums," a French Woman of Letters by the name of Delphine Seydoux had stolen the relic from her German lover before killing him.  At the moment, it was the best lead they had.

While Sam was busy translating a French report by Clifford Hernshaw, another member of the Men of Letters, Dean showered and dressed, and Chelsea continued to snooze the day away.

“Well?” Dean pressed as he returned to the library.

"Hey. So, it's definitely about Delphine," Sam greeted with a nod, “Her name is at the top of every page.  Check this out: transcriptions.  From transatlantic cables between Clifford & Delphine.”

“What’d they say?”

“Give me a second.  Web translation’s kind of buggy,” Dean took a swig from the beer bottle he walked in with as his brother spoke, earning him an exasperated look.  “Seriously?  Dude, it’s like noon.”

“Uh, well _you_ drank all the coffee.  So, what am I supposed to drink, water?” Dean snarked back, “Just you wait until the sleeping beast wakes up and can’t have her morning fix.  You remember what happened last time.”

Sam shuddered at the memory.  It had only been a little over a month since Chelsea’s arrival the last time they were unprepared for a coffee outage.  However, that didn’t stop her from making both hunters very aware of the dangers of getting between the coffee addict and her morning cups.  Chelsea was, surprisingly, one of those people where they were borderline homicidal prior to the daily ritual sacrifice of the morning brew.  Chelsea, however, was worst than most and typically indulged in at least two or three cups before even humoring either Winchester with a late-morning greeting.  Sam had previously thought that his brother was bad in the mornings, but then again, Dean never threatened to castrate him with a rusted spoon over drinking all the coffee.

As if on cue, the two men heard their housemate's irate shout echo throughout the bunker, "YOU COFFEE THIEVING BASTARDS! WHEN I GET MY HANDS ON YOU!"

Sam and Dean both whipped their heads in the direction of the kitchen, awaiting the wave of terror that would soon befall them.  Less than 30 seconds later, Chelsea flew around the corner and stumbled through the library entryway.  Her hair was a tangled rat's nest atop her head with several brown, wispy pieces falling in front of her face.  The heather grey sweats she often lounged around the bunker in hung loose and low on her hips, allowing a bit of skin to peak between them and her off-white, fitted Henley.  Dean was briefly distracted by the peek-a-boo of soft abdomen, but the moment of pleasure ended instantly when she stormed up to him and Sam, flailing an empty coffee pot.

“Which one of you flannel-clad assholes drank all the coffee!?”

Dean, feeling rather brave since Chelsea’s appearance combined with the smudged raccoon eyes made her appear more comical, decided to try and diffuse the situation.  “Look, sweetheart, I need my morning cup too, but a lack of coffee _one day_ isn’t gonna…”

Chelsea snapped her head to glare at Dean so fast, Sam swore her neck was going to break.  If looks could kill, Dean would be dead on the floor with the murderous glare Chelsea was giving him.  Quickly realizing his mistake, Dean changed tactics—self-preservation.

“Sam did it.”

“I-I uh…” Sam stuttered in panic as Chelsea focused her wrath towards him instead.  Dean quietly took another sip of his beer, stepping away with wide eyes and an apologetic shrug.

_Tough luck, Sammy._

Thinking on his feet, Sam responded quickly, “I was just showing Dean something that could help with Amara! And then, I was going to make a supply run and maybe grab us some coffee from that place in town you really like.  Extra-large vanilla latte with two sweeteners, whole milk, and a shot of espresso, right?” Sam gave her a terrified smile and hoped his plan worked.  Unfortunately, it also meant he would now be making said coffee run.

Chelsea narrowed her eyes at the younger Winchester in suspicion; would she buy it?  Dean silently watched from where he had tucked himself against one of the bookcases, safely away from any potential danger.  After a moment of silence, however, the coffee-fueled nightmare seemed to be placated by Sam’s suggestion and turned her attention towards the records he found.

“What’ve you got?”

Both Winchesters let out a heavy sigh of relief.  Sam quickly brought her up to speed on what he found and how it could possibly help take care of Amara.  Dean, sensing crisis was averted, withdrew from his hiding spot and joined the group for Sam’s presentation.

“Look at this,” Sam instructed as he turned his laptop so both Chelsea and Dean could see the translation, “They were making arrangements to get the artifact out of Europe to keep it safe.  Henshaw pulled some strings with the Men of Letters in the OSS to requisition an active US submarine to transport Delphine and the weapon back to the States.”

“The bunker?”  Chelsea asked with subtle interest.

“Yeah.”

“So, its been here the whole time,” Dean added.

“Uh…” Sam typed away on his laptop a moment before continuing, “No.  It never arrived.  The USS Bluefin came under German attack midway through its trip across the Atlantic.  The sub was sunk.  The ship and its contents haven’t been recovered to this day.”

“Great. So, its lost,” Chelsea commented, still mildly bitter about her lack of caffeine.

“Or is it?”

“Yeah, I’d say so, Dean.  I mean, tides took the wreckage.  Submersibles have been trying to locate it for years.  I mean, if James Cameron and his _Avatar_ billions can’t find it…”  Sam trailed off, implying the hopelessness of them ever locating the wreckage.

“Yeah,” the older Winchester conceded, “but we have something James Cameron didn’t have.”

“Nifty neat-o, Batman!  Now go get my coffee, Sam!”

* * *

When Dean suggested that they had something that James Cameron didn’t, he was referring to a certain winged friend of theirs.  Two hours, an extra-large coffee, and a hot shower later, she returned to the library as the Winchesters were discussing the plan with Cas.  Chelsea had wanted to meet Castiel ever since she arrived and finally she had the opportunity.  

“There were several God-touched objects, but it never occurred to me that any of them survived the flood, let alone the twentieth century,” Castiel explained to the Winchesters.  Chelsea could hear him talking as she made her way through the war room to the library, nodding to the boys as she entered.

“Do you think we can use it against Amara?” Sam pressed.

“It's perfect. And I can get you back there.”

“Without wings? Cas, you can't even teleport,” Sam rebuked.

“Time travel is a—it’s a whole different system,” Cas explained.  Chelsea leaned against one of the tables in the library and crossed her arms.  Something seemed a little off about him, but then again something was always off about Cas.  That was nine-tenths of his personality.

“Told ya!” Dean hooted triumphantly.

“So, uh, these the last coordinates?”

“That's the Bluefin's last transmission to shore, yeah,” Dean confirmed.

“Alright.”

“Wait a second,” Sam interrupted, “Cas, aren't there still risks with time travel? I mean aren't there consequences?” Chelsea had to admit, Sam had a point.  She thought back to when Cas had the angel Balthazar un-sink the Titanic so he could get new souls during his war with Raphael over Heaven.  The whole thing became a giant mess and messed with thousands of lines and countless moments in history.  Basically, it was one huge Butterfly Effect.

“Sam, this is the ideal scenario,” Dean answered. 

“What?”

“That sub is a tin can floating in the middle of the ocean doomed to go down, you can't really mess with history at 20,000 leagues,” Dean began, “So, we get in, get the weapon, get out. It's a milk run.”

“Well that's not a very good plan,” Chelsea chimed in, earning her an annoyed look from Dean.

“Well, if things get outta hand, then Cas will just, zap me right back.”

“You?” Sam parroted in confusion.

“You're not going,” Dean confirmed.

“I beg your pardon?” Sam asked incredulously, exchanging looks with Chelsea.  She was just as confused as to why Dean would leave Sam behind on something like this.

“You need to stay here,” Dean reaffirmed.

“Stay here?” Chelsea repeated, looking at Dean like he grew an extra head.

“Just in case things go sideways, somebody needs to be left standing to take care of the Darkness,” Dean continued, “We can't risk us both! And at the moment, I'm the least valuable player! We all know that I can't kill Amara, so the least I could do is get the thing that we need so that you can, Sam!" Dean paused a moment and took in a deep breath as he stared at Chelsea.  She had her suspicions that Dean wouldn't be able to off Amara when the time came, but she had honestly hoped she was wrong.  Dean and her locked gazes and she could tell there was something he was trying to tell her.  But what that was, Chelsea didn't know.

“So, you expect us to sit here and ride the pine while you can Cas go play Jules Verne?” Sam asked, agitation clear in his voice.

“Yes! No. I—who?”

“I won't let him out of my sight,” Cas spoke up in an attempt to reassure the younger Winchester. 

_Did—did he just roll his eyes?_

“You'll stay by his side the entire time?” Sam asked, turning to their angel friend.

Cas nodded in agreement, “I will.”

“Sam, let me do this,” Dean asked, “Okay, I need to do this.”

Sam let out a sigh of resignation and looked at Chelsea for back-up, who could only shrug in response. “Be safe.”

“When am I not?”

“Do you want that list alphabetically, or chronologically?” Chelsea sassed with a tilt of her head and a raised eyebrow.  She did not like this plan.

“Let's do this, Cas,” Dean ignored her comment and walked into the war room with Cas while Sam and Chelsea watched.  Dean turned around with a nod and a smirk, “Bon voyage.”

“Don’t be an ass,” Chelsea replied with an annoyed scowl.  Dean stopped smirking and, in the blink of an eye, he and Cas were gone.

Sam watched Chelsea with a quizzical expression. “I don’t like this.  Something feels off to me…” Chelsea explained quietly before walking out of the library and shaking her head.  She couldn't explain it, but there was a twisting in her stomach that told her something was off about this.  Feeling increasingly restless, Chelsea headed towards the art room to distract herself and wait out Dean’s return.

Chelsea emerged an hour or so later, in need of a refuel, when she heard shouts and crashing coming from the library.  Panicked, she rushed through the bunker's halls to see what the commotion was.  When she rounded the entrance to the library from the atrium, she saw Sam on the floor in pain, and Dean pinned to one of the pillars.  Cas was strutting in a loop as spoke aloud, monologuing to the Winchesters.  Catching Dean's gaze, he signaled for Chelsea to run, unfortunately also grabbing Castiel’s attention.  Before he could see her, Chelsea ducked down and crawled along the library floor, hiding behind the bookcases and tables.  Sensing nothing there, Castiel continued rambling.

“I feel a burden lifted. You know, this whole… deep cover thing… it just wasn't—it wasn't terribly well thought out. Donning this—this Cas mask? This grim face of angelic constipation? It just... Ugh,” Cas drolled on, rolling his head dramatically, “And then, teaming up with you two. I mean, I thought you boys were insufferable as mortal enemies, but working with you. That's the soul crusher.”

Chelsea scuttled across the floor towards Sam who had pulled out his knife.  Softly tapping the ground, she caught his attention and waved for him to slide her the blade.  After a brief silent mouthing argument, Sam conceded.  Taking the knife, Chelsea made her way back along the tables until she reached a pillar and got to work.

“Why the faces, boys? You should be cheering,” Castiel mocked.  While he was distracted, Chelsea was busy painting a sigil using blood from her hand.  “We have a common enemy. With this, she will be no problem. I mean, I will have killed you both by then, but still. Come on.”  Cas held up the Hand of God in admiration and unwrapped it.  Dean and Sam both watched on, horror-struck.

“No!” Dean shouted.

Castiel held the Hand of God a moment before continuing, “And of course, I’m going to have to kill that cute, little piece of ass.  Shame really, but that’s what she gets for joining the wrong team.”

“NO!”

Chelsea froze a moment in fear.  It never occurred to her that she could actually be killed at that moment, that the situation was in fact dangerous.  She just rushed in and thought fast.  Shaking her head, Chelsea finished up the sigil and prepared to send him flying.  From where she was at the base of one of the central library pillars, Chelsea could see Castiel close his eyes, waiting for the power from the Hand of God to surge into him.  She and the Winchesters watched in horror only to shift to worry and confusion when nothing happened.

“It's kicked!” Castiel roared.

“Well. Who'd have thought the Hand of God would turn out to be a one-hitter?” Dean mocked in relief

Castiel tossed the relic angrily onto the table and made his way towards Dean, who was still pinned.  Chelsea, seizing the opportunity, shouted out to distract him.

“Aw, it’s ok Cas! You know I hear that one-in-ten men suffer from erectile dysfunction. Maybe this will help?” Chelsea slammed her hand against the pillar with the angel banishing sigil and sent him flying, releasing Dean from the pillar across from her.

“Seriously, Chels?” Dean looked at her.  Chelsea shrugged in response, causing Dean to simply shake his head, “Let me see your hand.”

* * *

Chelsea came into Dean’s room later that evening to check on him.  Sam and Dean had filled her in earlier about how Lucifer had apparently jumped into Castiel with the promise of being able to kill Amara.  She could tell, just from the look on Dean’s face that it bothered him, but not only that.  Dean hadn't talked about the ship or what happened to it either.  Based on what she knew about Dean, and the one-on-one conversations they occasionally had in the garage, sometimes he had an easier time venting to someone other than Sam.

When Chelsea reached his bedroom, the door was already open, and a faint, yellow light had drifted into the hallway.  Peering in, she could see Dean reclining on the bed, one hand behind his head, nodding his head lightly to the music.  The light coming from the bedside lamp made the room seem oddly cozy despite the assortment of weapons hanging on the wall.  He looked peaceful for once although, knowing the infamous hunter, his mind was probably anything but.

Tapping lightly on the door frame, Chelsea lingered a moment before stepping into the room and calling his name.  Lurching forward slightly, Dean’s eyes fluttered open before settling on the woman who entered his room.

“Hey Chels, what’s up?” Dean asked, pulling the headphones off and sitting up.

"Hey, you.  Just wanted to check up on ya," Chelsea answered as she walked up to the bed.

“Check up on me?  I think you’re a little confused there, sweetheart,” Dean chuckled half-heartedly.

"Haha, funny! Trust me if I have another coronary, you’ll be the first to know.  Actually, I was checking to see if you’re ok after, ya know, the Cas thing and the Bluefin…” she trailed off, leaving it open for Dean to speak up. 

Instead, he let out a sigh as he swung his feet off the bed, “Chelsea…”

“Look, I know the rule ‘no chick-flicks’ but, Cas is your best friend. He’s like a brother to you. Knowing that Lucifer is riding him right now…” Chelsea paused a moment as she chose her words carefully, “I’m here if you wanna talk.  I may not be much help with hunting or fixing up Baby, but I can at least lend an ear.  And please don’t do the big, bad hunter crap and the ‘fake it til you make it’ because that honestly hasn’t worked for you two in the past and honestly I’d rather you unload on me.”

Dean scoffed and shook his head as he spoke, “OK bossy.  Well, you don’t want me to unload on you.”

“Excuse you, did I stutter?” Chelsea crossed her arms and cocked her head, “Dean I’ve been watching your life for years.  I’ve seen what you and Sam have both been through.  There’s nothing you can tell me that would make me hate you.  And there’s nothing you can say that will scare me off. I promise.”

_Ok, could've been a bit gentler than that…_

Dean and Chelsea locked eyes in a silent showdown.  After a moment, Dean gave in and tilted his head towards the spot on the bed next to him.  Chelsea calmly took the seat and waited for him to speak.

“You want the truth?” Dean looked over at his headstrong companion, “Truth is, this scares the hell outta me.  It reminds me too much of when Lucifer rode Sam and just…  What the hell was Cas thinking!?  How could he ever think Lucifer was the answer!?” Dean asked loudly.  Chelsea could see the frustration in his face, not that she could blame him.

Letting out a sigh, Chelsea thought for a moment, "Well… from what I've seen, Cas keeps trying really hard to help and do the right thing, but it's almost like he knee-jerks and goes full-Monty.  But… his heart’s always in the right place.”

“So that justifies him dealing with Lucifer?” Dean snapped.

“No.  But it explains his mindset,” Chelsea answered firmly, “I don’t blame you for being mad about it being Lucifer. Hell, I don’t blame you for being mad about this whole thing period.  But Dean, please don’t take that out on him?”

“I hear ya…” Dean looked down at the floor, deep in thought.

Chelsea watched him for a minute, memorizing the features of his face.  The circles under his eyes were growing darker again, his stubble had come in a little more.  He looked so weighed down at that moment.  Between Amara and now knowing that Lucifer was possessing Cas, it hardly seemed fair.  Seeing Dean in-person, knowing him like she did, Chelsea got an up-close perspective to the man that he was.  It was so much easier to critique a character from the other side of a television screen, but being in the moment with them?  It changed everything.

Reaching over, Chelsea took Dean’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, causing him to look up at her.  “We’re gonna get Cas back, and We’re gonna stop the Darkness,” she reassured with a soft smile.

“And just how are you so sure?”

“Weeeeellll… For starters, you’re the _Win_ chesters, not the _Lose_ chesters. It’s kinda in the name.” 

Dean let out a laugh at the terrible joke, “Oh, well, by that logic, of course! Everything will be a piece of cake!”

Chelsea returned a chuckle, “I’m just saying… you two have been through literal hell.  I honestly don’t think there’s anything you two can’t handle.  Sure, a lot of crap has happened along the way, but you two always seem to get things done and save the world.  So, I know who I’ll always back.”

"You have way too much confidence in me," Dean retorted as he looked at her, an odd expression on his face that Chelsea could swear she's seen before.

"Nah.  I have just the right amount of confidence in you.  It's _you_ who doesn’t have enough confidence in _himself_.”

Chelsea gave Dean a small smile and squeezed his hand again before standing. Leaning over, she gave him a gentle kiss on his cheek, savoring how the scratchiness felt against her lips.  Pulling back, she could see a look of mild surprise on Dean's face and his eyes flickering between her own and her lips.  Feeling nerves bubbling up inside her, Chelsea turned away and made for the door.

“Goodnight, Dean,” she paused in the doorway, looking back at the older Winchester.

“Goodnight, Chels.”

Chelsea disappeared into the hallway, stomach twisting in knots.  Why was she feeling like this?  Dean was just a friend.  He was like a weird older brother who was just a little too comfortable around her.  Nothing more than that.  But if that were true, why did she want to kiss him so badly?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! Just wanted to let you know that chapter 15 won't be out for 2 weeks. I'm hitting a case of writer's block as in I know where the plot goes but I just can't seem to write it. So in the meantime, I'm gonna work on 1-2 other pieces that keep scratching away at me & that I had partially written BEFORE Static. One is a DeanXOFC and the other is a SamXWitch!OFC. Sorry to do this but I really need a break and it just wouldn't be fair to y'all to force out the chapters without really focusing or putting in effort. So expect chapter 15 sometime around April 12-14.
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me!!


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back everyone! Sorry for the long wait but here we go, we're back on track! We're also nearing the final few chapters of the series. I promise, there will be smut before it ends... just not this chapter...

Sam and Dean had gone off to Hope Spring, Idaho, where Amara finally started being active again.  For her own safety, the boys had asked that Chelsea stay behind at the bunker, which she was more than willing to do.  God’s evil, insane sister was not someone she was willing to tangle with, especially with her less-than-good health.  So, Chelsea took the opportunity to finish an on-going art project she set for herself.

Three days after the boys left, Chelsea took a much-needed break from her painting to grab some coffee and stretch her legs.  Meandering around the bunker aimlessly, the lone artist savored the warmth coming from the mug she nursed in her hands.  She strolled around the library, noting that Sam had pretty much finished reorganizing the shelves again, before making her way out to the war room.  The map table sat in the center, large and glowing yet oddly unassuming. 

Suddenly, the Winchesters and Chuck appeared in the center of the room out of seemingly nowhere, “crazy spell or manifest... ation.” Dean and Sam looked around the room, confusion written all over their faces.  Chelsea was still standing next to the war table, cup of coffee raised halfway, mouth agape, and eyes wide.

A moment later, Kevin Tran, or the ghost of him, stepped out from behind Chuck.  “Kevin?”

“Guys! You're looking stressed. Especially you,” Kevin directed towards Dean, “I-It's cool. Trust Chuck. Whatever it is he needs you to do, he must think you can handle it. I always trusted you.”

“Yeah, that ended well,” Dean mumbled bitterly.

“How did you – Are you okay, or – uh?” Sam stuttered in confusion.

“Um... Yeah, I mean, you know, given the circumstances.”

“Yeah, I don't mean to interrupt. Kind of a plateful here. And, Kevin... you've been in the Veil long enough. It's time you had an upgrade,” Chuck intervened.  With a wave of his hand, Kevin was then transformed into the bluish light of a soul and ascended upwards to Heaven.

“Holy crap.”

“I am not prepared for this,” Chelsea finally spoke up, catching the remaining men’s attention, “I need a drink.”  Chelsea set her mug on the map table, threw her hands up in the air, and headed into the library to grab a glass of whiskey.

It took everyone a moment, but eventually, they settled down in the war room with drinks and began talking.  Sam got a little over-excited and started babbling, only for Dean to shush him.  Chelsea just sat quietly next to Sam, cradling her glass of whiskey in her hands.  Despite Sam’s babbling, however, the room was very tense.

“I'm getting that not everyone's totally on board,” Chuck said awkwardly.

“Here's the thing, um...Chuck... And I mean no disrespect,” Dean began, a slightly clipped tone to his voice, “Um... I'm guessing you came back to help with the Darkness, and that's great. That's, ya know—It's fantastic. Um, but you've been gone a—a long, long time. And there's so much crap that has gone down on the Earth for thousands of years. I mean, plagues and wars, slaughters. And you were, I don't know, writing books, going to fan conventions. Were you even aware, o—or did you just tune it out?”

 “I was aware, Dean,” Chuck answered calmly.

 “But you did nothing,” Dean stated angrily, “And, again, I—I’m not trying to piss you off. You know, I don't want to turn into a pillar of salt.”

“I actually… didn't do that.”

“Okay. People… People pray to you. People build churches for you. They fight wars in your name, and you did nothing.” Chelsea watched Dean as he spoke.  His jaw was clenched and shoulders tight.  It was obvious that he was getting worked up, not that she could blame him, all things considered.

“You're frustrated. I get it. Believe me, I was hands-on – Real hands-on for, wow, ages,” Chuck explained, “I was so sure if I kept stepping in, teaching, punishing, that these beautiful creatures that I created... would grow up. But it only stayed the same. And I saw that I needed to step away and let my baby find its way. Being over-involved is no longer parenting,” Chuck let out a heavy sigh, “It's enabling.”

“But it didn't get better.”

“Well, I've been mulling it over. And from where I sit, I think it has.”

“Well, from where I sit, it feels like you left us and you're trying to justify it," Dean stated bluntly.  Chelsea noticed Sam bristled at his brother's comment.  A little bit of childhood resentment was beginning to creep into Dean's statements.

“I know you had a complicated upbringing, Dean, but don't confuse me with your dad.”

Recognizing the beginnings of a dangerous conversation, Chelsea stepped in to finally get her own answers, “Sorry to interrupt but, um, Chuck, you see everything that goes on here.  Nothing happens without you knowing about it… So, why am I here?”

Chuck let out a sigh of sympathy, “I’m very sorry, Chelsea…  Your being brought here was purely accidental.  When the angels attempted to smite my sister with the power of Heaven, it such a cosmic force that you got hit with leftover static really.”

"So… This, all of this…. Just a mistake? No greater purpose, or some plot, or anything?" Chelsea asked, dejection evident in her voice.  She had hoped that maybe, just maybe, there had been some higher purpose to her being here; that maybe her life wasn't a complete waste.

“I know what you were hoping for, especially with everything you’ve been through, but I’m sorry.”

Chelsea swallowed down a wave of emotion; the disappointment was unbearable.  Sam and Dean were watching her with distinctive looks of pity and understanding.  It suddenly felt like their eyes were bearing into her soul.

“Yeah, no. I, um, it makes sense I guess,” Chelsea wiped her hands on her jeans as she stood up, shaking her head slightly.  Setting her glass on the table, she turned and left the war room, in a rush to get to her sacred space. She didn’t want any of them to see how upset this new revelation made her, or how stupid she felt for having been so hopeful.

“Chels,” Dean called to her, but she ignored him, swiftly disappearing out of the room.

Entering her secret art room, Chelsea quickly locked the door from the inside and slumped against it, sliding down to the floor.  Her life ever since her dad died had been an absolute train wreck—failed relationships, homelessness, starvation, there had been several times where she considered just ending things.  But Chelsea could still hear his voice in her head, pushing her forward, begging for her not to give up.  When she first came to the Bunker and had time to settle in, she had pondered over why she was there and what brought her there.  Having watched the Winchesters from behind a tv screen for years, everything weird that happened seemed to have a reason—a greater purpose—whether it was good or evil.  Chelsea had hoped that maybe, just maybe, there was something worthwhile going on behind the scenes for her.  But no, it was all a mistake; there was nothing special about her.

Chelsea lost track of time, silently crying on the floor and staring off into space.  It must have been hours later when she heard a thunk against the outside of the door and a familiar voice call to her from the other side.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

_‘Dean.’_

“I know you’re there.  Wanna talk?”

Chelsea straightened up against the door, both surprised and concerned that he was just outside it. “How did you…”

“Sweetheart, c’mon. Sam and I have lived here for years now.  Like we wouldn’t notice the random empty room across from the dungeon suddenly having paint on the doorknob?”

_‘Well, shit… More observant than I thought.’_

“I can explain—”

“Don’t bother, we’re not mad.  Sam noticed it first… Messy,” Dean chuckled slightly, trying to lighten the situation. “I like your stuff by the way.  It—It’s nice.  You paint some great stuff.”

Chelsea smiled slightly at the compliment, “Thanks, Dean.”

“So. Talk to me, Chels.”

“What do you want me to say, Dean?  That I’m upset? Disappointed?”  She couldn’t see him, but on the other side of the door, Dean shrugged and nodded. “Because I am.  I just—just once…”

“Yeah.  I know the feeling,” Dean rested his arms on his knees.  The whole thing with God, or well, Chuck as he preferred to be called apparently, made everyone’s heads spin.  Dean was angry at him for being gone so long, for the state the world was in, for all the war and pain, and now he was angry for Chelsea too.

The door behind Dean began to open, almost making him fall over.  Looking over his shoulder, he could see Chelsea also sitting on the floor, eyes still a little red from when she was crying.  Reaching his arm wide for her, Dean let Chelsea curl up into his side and held her close.  Chelsea let out a sigh as she drew her knees up to her chest and rested her head on the older hunter’s shoulder.

“So, think Chuck is really gonna help deal with his sister?”

“I wouldn’t get my hopes up,” Dean answered cynically, “He’s sat on the sidelines for, hell, all of human history really.  But he says he’s gonna pitch in now.”

Chelsea pondered what Dean said, “So then what made him decide to step up all of a sudden?  Why is he here _now_?  After _everything_?”

Dean quietly sat for a moment, rubbing her arm absentmindedly.  It was something he had been mulling over ever since Chuck showed up in the middle of Hope Springs and saved the entire town.  Chuck had been ignoring so much of what Amara had done, all the deaths and natural disasters, yet suddenly, he came out of hiding?  Dean had been a hunter too long to trust something like this.  Even if it was God/Chuck, stuff like this never went their way.

“I don’t know, Chels,” he answered finally.

* * *

 

The next morning the brothers were out in the War Room discussing Chuck when Chelsea walked in, hair up in a messy bun, pajamas in full swing, and hot coffee in-hand.  She gave a nod to the boys before plopping down into one of the chairs across from Sam and tucking her legs underneath her.

“Well look who’s up before noon,” Sam teased as Chelsea made a face at him.

“Yeah, seriously. It's only," Dean checked his watch for the time, "9:17am.  Are you sick?"

“Hahahahaha. Cute. No, I passed out early last night, so that's why I'm up right now," she answered clearly unamused as the brothers laughed at her.

“So how do you like waking up with the rest of the world,” Sam continued.

"It's so bright, and early, and chipper… I hate it.” Sam and Dean both laughed again before continuing their prior conversation.

“You know, I know this is a really strange situation and all, but it's also really amazing, you know? I mean, it's God,” Sam chuckled, “There's so many things I want to ask him, uh, like, uh, t-the planets, you know? Why are they round? Or ears. I always thought they were strange—"

Chelsea stared blankly at Sam as he rambled, before Dean interrupted him, “Okay, fanboy, calm down. Let's stay focused. We got to find Lucifer before it's too late.”

“Too late?”

“Amara is – she's in my head,” Chelsea and Sam both turned sharply to Dean and stared at him, “Hey, I didn't ask for it, okay? She just showed up. But she's showing me visions of – of Lucifer. By Lucifer, I mean Cas, and he looks like crap – like she's really doing a number on him.”

“Guys, shh.” Chuck came walking into the room that very moment, clad in one of the robes from the bunker with a cup of coffee in hand.

“Hey. Morning,” Sam greeted.

Dean did a doubletake at Chuck, “Is that my robe?”

Ignoring Dean’s question, Chuck continued their conversation regarding Lucifer, “I'm telling you guys, it's a mistake to get mixed up with Lucifer. Much as it pained me, I had to walk away. Too much drama. Do you have any bacon?”

“You eat bacon?” Both Dean and Chelsea perked up.

Chuck gave the two of them a calm stare, “Yeah.”

“Hey, guys, this just came up,” Sam raised his voice to get everyone’s attention, “Looks like that fog, the, um... Amara fog, uh, hit another town.”

“And?”

“And this one wasn't as lucky as the last one. Thousands died. Uh, everybody died. But, uh, except for one man,” Sam explained.

Dean turned towards Chuck, scorn and bitterness lacing his voice, “How'd you miss that one?”

“She's baiting me,” Chuck stated matter-of-factly, “I can't respond every time. I won't be manipulated.” He was solid in his resolve with the Amara situation.  Chelsea was beginning to see where some of the Old Testament stories got his personality right.

“Yeah, but thousands of people are dead,” Dean bit back angrily.

“Unfortunately. So, find her.”

* * *

 

Sam and Dean headed off to Lewis, Oklahoma to follow up on the most recent Amara activity, leaving Chelsea alone with God.  It was surprisingly awkward.  Chelsea fidgeted a moment, unsure of what to do after the Winchesters left.  Chuck was sitting calmly at the War Table, still wearing Dean’s robe.  Chelsea made a mental note to wash it for him as soon as she could get it away from the celestial being.

“You don’t have to feel weird around me, Chelsea.  I’m not going to smite you,” he reassured.

Chelsea let out a huff, "Yeah. Right. Smiting…  That's what got me into this, isn't it?  Heaven smiting."

“I understand why you’re still upset.  After everything you went through after your father died—”

“How do you know?  I’m not even from this universe.” Chelsea cut off.

"After you were brought here, everything about you I suddenly knew.  I am omnipotent after all," Chuck answered calmly as he chewed on a piece of bacon.  Chelsea was unsure how to respond to him.  Hell, she was still getting over the fact that the mousey “Prophet of the Lord” they thought had died years ago was really an all-powerful being.  And she thought getting transported across universes was a lot to absorb.

Chelsea shifted on her feet a moment, getting increasingly uncomfortable underneath Chuck's gaze.  Finally having enough, she gave a sharp nod and once again retreated to the safety of her no-longer-secret art room.  She made a mental note to ask Dean more about them finding out about it but was grateful that neither Winchester was upset.  Removing the sheet covering the almost complete acrylic painting, Chelsea gazed at her work with a little bit of pride.  Dean said he liked her artwork.  Chelsea could feel a little bit of warmth spread throughout her stomach, all the way to her fingers and toes.  She couldn’t wait to show him the finished piece.

Chelsea emerged hours later, hungry and in desperate need to restock her mini-fridge.  After grabbing a pick-me-up from the kitchen, she wandered back out to the war room to check on Chuck.  He was now much more reclined, watching porn on Dean’s laptop… With no pants on.  Chelsea froze, wide eyes and brows furrowed, unsure what to make of the scene before her.

Suddenly, the door to the Bunker opened, and Dean stepped out onto the staircase, "Hey, Chuck.  Chels. We, uh, found someone. I think he's the next prophet.”

“Neat-o,” Chuck continued to watch whatever was now playing on the laptop.

Dean stopped a few feet away from Chuck, “Is that my computer?”

“I've never seen so much porn. Not in one sitting.”

“It's – I'm gonna...” Dean stuttered as he carefully closed the laptop and gave Chelsea an embarrassed half-smile, “So, uh, listen. He – He's – He's a little nutted out about the whole Ooga-booga of it all, so maybe just dial back the – the God stuff.”  Above them, the door to the Bunker reopened with Sam coming through. 

“No pants on,” Dean sighed as he shook his head, “Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Sam nodded and turned back towards the door, “All right, you're safe. Come on.”

Behind the younger Winchester came an older gentleman in a professor’s outfit.  He was shorter than him, which wasn’t surprising, and very stocky.  As they descended the stairs, Chuck stood from the table, not bothering to tie the robe he had confiscated from Dean.

Chuck let out a sigh when they got close, “Donatello, good to see ya. Sorry about your cat.”

“You – You know me?”  The older man asked in disbelief.

“I made you. I made all of you, even the ones who aren't born yet,” Chuck answered rather chipper.

“Please don’t go into that again. I’m still processing,” Chelsea chided from behind him, making a face.  Dean raised his eyebrows in agreement and let out a huff.

“Oh, my God. It's you. G-Good to meet you, Sir! Your—Your celestial magnificence, your—"

Chuck held up his hand to calm the now stuttering and enthusiastic man, “Hey, hey, hey, it's okay.”

“He—He just kind of goes by Chuck,” Sam added.

“So, we good? Y'all signed up?”

“Uh...I-I-I guess you know that I was an atheist, until 10 minutes ago. Is that an issue?” Donatello questioned cautiously.

“Not for me. I mean, I believe in me. But your skepticism is to be expected. I did include free will in the kit,” he chuckled in response, clicking his tongue, “Welcome aboard.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go folks! Chapter 16! We're in the final countdown for this fic!!! And ch 17 is already in the works so hang tight because that is rolling on through!

“Dean _please_ let me help!”

"For the last time, NO!  I'm not risking you getting hurt, or your heart murmur acting up."

“But you let me help on the Valentine’s hunt,” Chelsea argued stubbornly.

"Yeah! That was a witch!  This is Amara we're talking about here!" Dean was again shot down.  It was like talking to two sides of a brick wall.  Dean was standing his ground, refusing to let Chelsea get anywhere near God's insane sister.  And Chelsea was pushing his buttons, repeatedly pleading to be included in everything.

Chelsea had really enjoyed the hunt she went on with them previously, enjoying the bit of adrenaline rush she got from facing down that witch.  But in the weeks since then, the older Winchester once again sent her to the sidelines, stating that it was a one-time thing.  Needless to say, boredom and cabin fever set in quickly.  Considering all the excitement and running around going on the last few days, Chelsea was rearing to get in on the action.  Lucifer, wearing Castiel, was putting aside his pettiness w/ Chuck to help put a stop to the Darkness.  Crowley and Rowena both jumped in to aid them as well, taking a keen interest in the artist the boys kept tucked away in the safety of their bunker.  Dean, however, made sure to step in between Chelsea and the King of Hell every opportunity he could, not that she didn’t secretly enjoy the attention.

“Ya know, Dean, maybe we could use her.  She’s resourceful and really helped us out when Lucifer—”

"I said no, Sam!  Dammit, why are you both so eager to send her into danger with us!?  She's not a hunter!  She's a painter with medical problems, and I'm not letting her get within 50 feet of Amara!"

"Oh! Right! I can help with that," Before anyone could say anything, Chuck strode over to Chelsea and instantly cured her medical problems. "I figured that was the least I could do all things considering.  No more heart murmur, carpal tunnel, dizziness, deficiencies, or lingering static charge."  He said with a satisfied smile.

Chelsea went cross-eyed momentarily before giving her head a subtle shake, “Thank You?”

“Has everyone lost their damn mind!?” Dean shouted in frustration, fisting his hair, “Look I’m glad he healed you, but again, I do not want you anywhere near Amara.”

Chelsea crossed her arms and stood toe-to-toe with the older Winchester, refusing to stand down. “Well too bad, Dean, I guess you can’t always get what you want.  Now I’ve got a clean bill of health from God himself, I’m skilled with a knife and handgun because of my firefighter father, Sam’s been training me for months now,” She rattled off smugly.  She knew who was going to win this argument, having practiced it on Sam when Dean wasn’t around, “I’m not gonna just sit back and watch while everybody else runs into the fire. I’m going to help in any and _every_ way that I can, whether you like it or not.  So, either I'm gonna ride with you, _or_ I’m gonna steal a car from the garage again. Take. Your. Pick.”

When everyone arrived at the abandoned power plant, tensions were running high.  The Winchesters were in no mood to deal with Crowley, Dean was pissed that Chelsea won their little stalemate, and both her and Dean balked at Sam’s plan to take on the Mark of Cain and have himself locked up.

“First Cas is making kamikaze side plans, and now you? You couldn't have talked to me?” Dean asked incredulously.

“We did talk,” Sam stated simply.  There really was no room for arguments when in only a short while Amara would be upon them.  However, Dean was not satisfied with his brother’s answer.

“And what happens when the Mark turns you psycho, then what?”

“You lock me up where I can't hurt anyone, and you throw away the key,” Sam nodded with absolute certainty.

“Sam, no.”

“Dean, you told me you couldn't beat Amara, that it would have to be me. Well, this is it – me.”

“Why the hell do you two always gotta run around throwing yourselves head-first at every monster and problem you face?!” Chelsea hissed a few feet away.  “Why can’t the two of you actually come up with _good_ plans. Ya know, ones where neither of you has to basically commit suicide to save the world?"

"Look, guys, we talked about this. It's time to do the smart thing.”

“So, what am I supposed to do, just sit by and watch?”  There was a hint of bitterness in Dean’s voice.

“No. We're both in this fight. You're leading this army,” Sam pointed to his brother, “And _you’re_ the support, helping where necessary,” Sam concluded, looking at Chelsea pointedly.

“Oh, you mean babysitting the bad guys?”  Sam huffed out a laugh in response.  He knew Dean wouldn't go along with the plan Chuck came up with, which is part of why they chose to keep it hushed until the last minute.  But it was their only option at the moment since God couldn't kill his own sister.

“Okay, Sam. Okay. God's plan," Dean finally relented.

“This still is one of the stupidest plans you two have _ever_ come up with.  And I’ve seen both of you do stupid,” Chelsea spat as she crossed her arms.  She had grown so attached to both brothers over the past six months that she was not ready to let either one of them go without a fight.

“Chels, we really don’t have much choice here.  Dean can’t take on the Mark again, I’m ready and willing, and it’s the only option we can come up with.  God can’t kill her so—”

"So, we've got to make the sacrifice, blah blah blah," she interrupted in annoyance, "Yeah I get the repetitive picture, and nothing you say will make me agree with it, but you're gonna try it anyways.  If this works, I’m personally gonna kick your ass, Sam Winchester.”

“I’ll hold you to it.”

Naturally, nothing went according to plan.  First, Amara easily took out their first line, which was Rowena and the witches.  Next up was Crowley and he too was easily knocked away.  Amara then wasted no time blowing Lucifer out of Castiel after he attempted to reseal her away in the Mark with the use of God's power.  When she focused her attention on the Winchesters and Chelsea, things became sticky.  Amara was intrigued by Chelsea, recognizing her from when she had tapped into Dean's mind only two days prior.  When she demanded to know what Chelsea was to Dean, he did not answer and instead slotted himself between them.  Amara, angry and jealous, did not hesitate to lash out at them, throwing a particularly harsh wave at Chelsea and Dean.

When she finally turned her attention back towards her older brother, Amara was enraged.  She was scorned and bitter and wanted him to suffer the way she had suffered.  Striking and choking him with black tendrils, the darkness ignored dean’s pleas for her to stop and leaving bright, glowing gashes on Chuck’s body.  Soon, he was glowing impossibly bright to the point where Chelsea and the Winchesters could no longer look at him.  Finally, God’s body fell limply to the ground with a loud thud.

“No. Amara, what have you done?” Dean grunted as he tried to push himself up.

“He's dead. God's dead,” Sam choked out, watching his motionless body from across the room.  Chelsea sat up, mouth agape and staring wide-eyed in horror at the scene.

“No. He's dying,” Amara stated simply.  Her voice was emotionless, and she turned a cold gaze from her brother to the trio, “My brother will dim and fade away into nothing. But not until he sees what comes next. Not until he watches this world, everything he created, everything he loves, turn to ash. Welcome to the end.”

With that declaration, Amara vanished, leaving them alone to try and pick up the pieces of what just happened.  Sam went over to check on Chuck while Dean dragged himself over to Cas.  Chelsea was still sitting on the cold, dirty, stone floor in a bit of shock.  On tv, Amara and most of the Supernatural villains just weren’t scary to her.  But in-person, Amara was instantly intimidating, especially after seeing what she did to Chuck.  Somewhere in the back of her mind, this whole thing still just seemed like a weird dream, like it wasn’t real.  That residual notion was finally thrust out the window when Amara knocked the wind outta her and threw them all on their asses.

Chelsea couldn’t fully register the voices around her, not until Dean was talking right next to her and pulling her to her feet, hands holding her tight until she steadied. “Hey. Chelsea. You alright?”  Dean was giving her a look-over, inspecting for any injuries.

Chelsea blinked at him a moment before fully coming to her senses, “Y-Yeah, I’m good.  Just winded a bit.”

Suddenly the door to the power plant slammed open, and everyone tensed up.  Sam, Dean, and Chelsea all drew their guns and aimed, though Chelsea's hand shook slightly.  Dean noticed it out of the corner of his eye but wasn't going to say anything about it quite yet.  Chuck, meanwhile, was clinging unsteadily to the younger Winchester brother.  A moment passed before Rowena stumbled through the threshold, looking just about how everyone else felt.

“So that was a gun in your pocket,” she snarked, Scottish accent thick.

Everyone relaxed and pocketed their guns.  Crowley, finally awake and coherent, stepped forward and brushed the dirt from his suit, “Well... that was a complete and utter dog's breakfast, wasn't it?”

“I didn't know dogs had breakfast,” Castiel mused with a confused tilt of his head and squinted eyes.

“Cas is back.”

Rowena continued speaking, “Just curious— has anyone bothered to look outside?”

When they reached the outside doors of the power plant, a loud emergency siren could be heard in the distance. The sky and everything around had been painted in a reddish hue much like one would see in a dramatic end-of-the-world film.  Rowena tapped Dean on the shoulder to get his attention, and turned him around, pointing to the sky. Chelsea and the others turned as well, gazes following Dean’s and Rowena’s only to sun burning brightly, the sky around it the same reddish-orange hue as if it were on fire.

“What is it?” Chelsea asked in amazement.  She knew it was nothing good but couldn’t help but be hypnotized by the beautiful colors.

“It looks like the sun is—"

Cas completed Sam’s thought, “Dying.”

“Why would Amara do that?” Sam questioned.

“The sun is the source of all life on earth,” Cas answered, “Without it, everything just... just wastes away.”

“Let's get the hell out of here.”

With a snap of his fingers, Chuck teleported the rag-tag group to the War Room back at the Men of Letters Bunker.  Unfortunately, Chelsea was still not used to this and almost fell over.  Dean, however, caught her and quickly steadied her back on her feet.

“You,” Crowley stated as he turned towards Chuck.”

“Still got a few tricks up my sleeve. I'm not dead y—” chuck attempted to pull away from Sam and stand on his own but ended up collapsing back against him.  Amara’s spell was quickly taking a hold on him.

“Oh, whoa. Okay. I got you,” Sam soothed as he helped him regain his balance.

“I should probably sit down.”

“Yeah. Come on,” Sam helped him into a chair in the library, Chuck groaning in pain as he sat down.  It reminded Chelsea of how the elderly are sometimes so stiff that they need assistance moving around.

“What do we do now?” Cas asked the room, only to be greeted with an uncertain silence.

Dean contemplated for a moment before pulling away from Chelsea and making his way into the kitchen.  Chelsea exchanged a look with Sam before the pair, along with Castiel, followed behind him. At the fridge, Dean pulled out a six-pack, twisted the top off, and it tossed the discarded cap onto the countertop while he took a long drag of beer. 

Sam looked incredulously at his brother, “Really?”

Dean let out a heavy sigh, “Really.” Sam scoffed at his brother and shook his head in disbelief. “What? We hit Amara with everything we got, and she walked it off,” Dean defended, taking another swig.

“So... So, it's last call?”

“That's right. Look, man. If you've got something for me to punch, shoot, or kill, let me know, and I'll do it. I'll do it till I die. But how are we supposed to fix the friggin' sun?” Dean slammed the now empty bottle on the table and stared at the remaining pack for a moment. “You know what? This isn't gonna be enough. I better make a run. No reason to die sober, huh? You want to?”

“No!” Sam shouted in frustration.

Chelsea couldn’t believe that Dean was just giving up like this.  What happened to the fierce hunter that had faced down the end of the world?  The one who fought tooth and nail against every villain that came their way, and won?  Now, that same man was giving up, ready to ride the wave that was about to hit them over a pathetic sibling rivalry between the two most powerful beings on the planet.

“Be right back.”

“I'll stay here, find our Plan B.”

“Okay. Cas, come on. Chelsea?" Dean looked at her expectantly.  However, she was not about to give up or encourage him to do so either.

“No. I’m gonna help Sam research.  Unlike some people, I don’t quit,” Chelsea stated coolly as she stared intensely at the older Winchester.  Dean was about to respond to her comment when Rowena waltzed in, looking around for something.

“Teapot?”

Dean and Cas cruised along, listening to classic rock on the radio with the windows down.  The sky still held the same reddish tint, though it did seem to be getting darker.  It had been a while since he really got to just take a drive or do a simple supply run.  Last time he had gone it had been with Chelsea.  It had been raining, and she ended up slipping on a puddle and knocking over one of the food displays.  She also accidentally ran into Dean twice, tripped on the mat just inside the doors, and had a bag of onions rip in half, causing them to scatter across the floor.  She just looked so defeated by the onions that he couldn’t help but hug her, although he was trying his hardest not to laugh at her frustration.  It was certainly a good memory, one he wished they could do again, though perhaps without the onions and toppled pyramid.  Perhaps that was why her jab and rejection stung him so much?  It was just a run, but he still wished Chelsea was there with him.

Shaking himself from his thoughts, Dean turned to the angel riding shotgun, “How you doing? You good? I mean, you know, the whole Lucifer thing.”

“I was just... so stupid,” Cas answered defeatedly.

“No, no, no. It wasn't stupid,” he reassured, “You were right. You were right to let Lucifer ride shotgun. Me and Sam wouldn't have done that.”

“Well, it didn't work.”

“No, but it was our best shot, and you stepped up.”

“I was just trying to help,” Castiel stated forlornly.

“Well, and you do help, Cas.”

“You know, I—"

“You know, sometimes me and Sam have got so much going on that...we forget about everyone else,” Dean interrupted, trying to pull his friend out of his self-pity.

“Well, you do live exciting lives.”

Dean chuckled at the comment, “Yeah, that's one word for it. But you're always there, you know? You're the best friend we've ever had. You're our brother, Cas. I want you to know that.”

“Thank you,” Cas smiled at his hunter friend before another thought struck his mind. “So that woman…”

“Chelsea. Yeah?”

“Who is she?”

Dean explained what had happened back in November, not long after the smiting and Cas saying yes to Lucifer.  He told Cas about how she had had so many medical problems but worked so hard to get stronger.  Castiel watched as Dean spoke, absorbing all the information the hunter was giving him but also smiling to himself at how he seemed to swell as he talked about her.  It was something he had not seen Dean do in a long time.

“So, she keeps you on your toes and matches your stubbornness.”

Dean chuckled at the thought, “Oh that’s an understatement. And don’t even think about getting in the way of her late-morning coffee.  Poor Sammy learned that one the hard way.

“You seem to care for her a great deal,” he commented, “It is good to see you smile.”

"Oh no, don't you start that nonsense.  Chelsea's a friend.  A bunk-mate."

"Is that really all she is to you, Dean?  Because I've never quite known you to smile the way you do when you talk about her."

“Cas,” Dean warned.

“The human heart is a funny thing.  Sometimes, something that we want the most appears in front of us—or in your case, falls in front of your car.  Perhaps, considering the current situation, it would be the best course of action to step up and grasp what is right in front of your before it is gone forever?” Castiel mused, pushing for Dean to not drag his feet.

“Yeah…” Dean fell silent as he thought about Chelsea more.  Cas was right; the world was ending. God was dying, and he couldn’t send Chelsea home even if he wanted to.  There was really nothing left to lose at this point.  First, Sam pointed it out, and now Cas—clearly, he needed to step his game up since time was now running out.

Dean was brought back into the moment when his cell started ringing, “Yo.  All right.  We're on our way.” Dean hung up the phone and dropped it in the seat. “Sam's got something.”


	17. Chapter 17

Everyone was gathered in the Bunker library when Dean and Castiel returned.  Sam had told his brother over the phone that they had a new plan.  However, when they explained it to the older Winchester, it wasn’t immediately well received.

“Wait, so now you want to kill the Darkness?” Dean questioned his brother and Chuck, “You're cool with this? 'Cause, you know, last time—"

“Look, Chuck's dying,” Sam stated bluntly, earning a sideways glance from Chuck, “Uh, no offense, God.”

“Yeah, no, I— I'm dying. So, we don't really have a choice. I mean, look. Y-You've got darkness and light. Y-You take one side away a-and—"

“It upsets the scales—the whole balance of the universe,” Cas finished.

“Exactly. But you take both away, and now both sides of the scale are empty, so...”

“Of course. It's balanced,” Castiel concluded.

“Right. Yes. Okay. Uh, and look. Hey, I'm game, but how exactly are we gonna do this? I mean, Lucifer hit her with a-a Hand of God, and, well, we saw how that turned out,” Dean pointed out, gesturing as he spoke.

“Yeah.”

“She does seem impossible to destroy.”

“ _Everything_ has a weakness,” Chelsea added sternly, “So what’s hers, Chuck?”

Chuck let out a heavy sigh before answering, all eyes turned to him expectantly, “Well, I—I mean, well... I... I—I—"

“Chuck!” Everyone shouted simultaneously, with Rowena adding in a thickly accented “Charles!”

Chuck sighed again before conceding, “All right. Fine. The Darkness might—might have a weakness—,” Chuck hobbled over to Crowley and stole the bottle of Craig from him, taking a swig before continuing, “Light.”

“He tells us now,” Crowley snarked with a roll of his eyes.

“What? I-I just wanted to trap her. I didn't want to murder her.”

“Okay, but now that we're trying to end her, how much light are we talking about?” Sam pressed.

“I don't know. 10,000 suns set to supernova.”

“Well, y-you're God. So, just God them up,” Dean stated as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

“Look at me. I'm...not in the best shape right now.”

Sam nodded in agreement, “Okay. Uh, that's all right. Uh, we just need other ideas. Um...Rowena. What about the Book of the Damned?”

Rowena scoffed at the hunter, “This is beyond—"

“Okay, Crowley?”

“Oh, I got nothing,” the King of Hell admitted with a shrug.

Chelsea thought back for a moment to ponder everything she watched (and admittedly re-watched) over the years when suddenly an idea struck her, "Hey, wait a minute! What about souls? They fuel your demon deals, and we saw what happened when Castiel absorbed all those souls from Purgatory… So maybe we can use those?” She asked excitedly, looking to Sam and Dean for confirmation. Sam looked as if a light came on upstairs and Dean made a face of approval, nodding in solidarity.

“Souls are living batteries. They're full of energy. They're full of light. Each one is as powerful as...100 suns?” Castiel continued the thought, slightly hopeful.

Rowena nodded her head in agreement, “H-He's not wrong.”

“Okay, so if we got this kind of juice, then what?" Dean asked, looking around the room for any more ideas.

“You get me enough souls...I can build a bomb.”

Dean turned to Chuck, “Would that do the trick?”

“Uh...maybe.”

“All right. Plan B,” Sam declared triumphantly.

“Okay. How many souls are we talking here?”

“The more, the better.”

“Even if you could get that kind of firepower,” Crowley interrupted, “You really think it would work?”

“I can ask the angels. Heaven is full of souls,” Cas offered.

“Okay. Uh, what else we got?”

“Ghosts,” Chelsea chirped.  She was beginning to get excited about how everything was coming together, in admittedly a much better plan than their previous one. “Well, they're just souls with baggage, right?”

Sam nodded at Chelsea’s suggestion, “Yeah, but we would need a whole lot of them.”

“Waverly Hills,” Dean smirked at his younger brother

Sam chuckled in response, “Waverly Hills Sanatorium. Of course. Thousands died there.”

“Tons of ghosts.”

Chelsea remembered hearing about the old asylum from Sam when she first arrived.  She had been looking through various records in the Men of Letters archives when she stumbled upon a file containing a list of insane asylums and mental institutions that were believed to be major haunting spots.  When she had brought it to Sam, he explained that the file was in fact incomplete.  When going over the list, he pointed out Crownsville Hospital in Maryland, Roosevelt Asylum in Illinois, which he and Dean had taken care of back in 2006, and finally Waverly Hills in Kentucky.  Apparently, Waverly Hills had been a center for Tuberculosis treatment between 1910-1961, with thousands of patients dying from improper treatment and a severe lack of effective vaccines.  It was rumored to be one of the most haunted places in the continental United States, a perfect ghost-hunting site.

“This is desperate...and stupid,” Crowley stated bluntly, trying to keep the group grounded.  But even he had to admit that the plan might just work.

“Well, desperate and stupid's pretty much all we got right now, so...” Dean rebuked.

“Fine,” Crowley conceded as he sat back down in one of the library chairs and propped his feet up on the table, “I'll go raid Hell and see what's left.”

“All right,” Sam boomed with a clap of his has and a relieved smile, “Let's get to work.”

The Winchesters and Chelsea handled the gathering of souls with the help of a crystal that Rowena had spelled to act as a ghost-vacuum.  Dena hadn't even bothered trying to tell the headstrong hunter-in-training no to tagging along on their mission.  Considering she managed to survive their previous encounter with Amara and ghosts were typically what the boys called "a milk run," Dean didn't put up a fight, but instructed her to stay close to them.

The run-down hospital was dark and creepy, every bit something that one would see in a horror flick.  Chelsea was teeming with energy as they wandered through the halls and set up in what once was the day room.  When the ghosts were upon them, everyone had their part to play—Sam and Chelsea alternated between blasted them with salt rounds and hitting them with iron bars, while Dean hurried to close the salt circle and entrap the spirits in the crystal.  When all was said and done, however, the group had nowhere near enough souls for their task.

“The angels are—Heaven won't help,” Cas stated dejectedly.

“They know that this is the end, right? Of everything,” Dean pressed angrily.  They couldn’t believe that, once again, Heaven was turning its back on them.

“Yes.”

“And they don't care?” Sam added.

“No, it's not that. It's... They know—They know God is dying and they don't think we can win this.

Souls or no souls. They're sealing Heaven, and they're 'dying with dignity.'"

“Well, that's awesome,” Dean stated sarcastically.

“All right, Crowley. What about you?”

“Well, I _had_ all the souls we needed.”

“What do you mean _'had’_?” Chelsea probed from her spot next to Dean.

“While I was indisposed, a few of my demonic pals decided to raid my stash.”

Castiel let out another disappointed sigh, “Well, what we have— it's not enough.”

All of a sudden, the bunker was on high alert.  Alarms began to sound, and red lights flashed alerting them to the arrival of a would-be intruder.  Everything seemed to buzz around them, and Dean grabbed Chelsea and pulled her behind him, attempting to shield her from whatever was approaching.

“Well, that could be nothing but good news,” Crowley pointed out sarcastically.

Castiel pulled out his angel blade while the Winchesters cocked their guns.  The main entry door to the bunker creaked overhead, and all eyes turned, guns aimed at the ready. Footsteps could be heard descending the outermost set of stairs.  When the door finally swung open, the reaper Billie strode in in a dramatic entrance.

“Nice digs.”

“Billie?”

“Who's Billie?” Rowena asked in confusion.

“Reaper. Wants us dead. Tons of fun,” the older Winchester brother answered sarcastically. Billie nodded a greeting to Crowley as she made her way into the center of the war room.

“Wait a second. H-How did you— What are you doing here?”

“I saw you boys at Waverly Hills, and call me a curious kitten, but with, you know, credits about to roll, I gotta ask—why you boys busting ghosts?” Chelsea had to admit, Billie had style and just oozed attitude and sass.  If it weren’t for her obnoxious vendetta against the Winchesters, Chelsea might have been interested in befriending her.

Dean, however, was in no mood to be dealing with the reaper, “Why do you care?”

“Dead folks—kind of my thing. So... spill.”

“We're collecting souls to build a bomb,” Sam began to explain.

“To blow the Darkness to hell,” Dean concluded for his brother.  The Winchesters and Billie turned their gazes to the glowing bomb resting atop the war table. Billie stared quietly for a moment before apparently coming to a decision.

“Okay.”

“Okay? Uh, w-what does that mean, 'okay’?”

“Means way things are going, I'm about an hour away from reaping God himself.”

“So, you're here to help us?” Cas questioned, unsure whether to trust the newcomer.

“Little tip—you want souls, call a reaper.”

Billie easily poured tens of thousands of souls into the bomb without so much as a sweat.  She had managed to pull them from the veil, where the souls of those who died after the fall remained.  Chelsea had to admit, it was highly impressive and interesting to witness.  As more and more souls filled the bomb, it began to grow brighter and larger.  When she was finished, Billie simply went on her way, telling the Winchesters that she’ll be back to reap them eventually. When she bid farewell to Crowley, he smirked at the acknowledgment but grinned sheepishly under the questioning stares of the rest of the party. Next, however, came the final stage of the plan: how would they get the bomb close to Amara?

“We need somebody to get close to her, someone with a... personal connection," Rowena stated.  Everyone turned and stared at Dean.  Chelsea could feel a fit of heat flare under her skin and in the pit of her stomach but elected to ignore it

Dean just cut to the chase, “Well, what are we waiting for? How do I smuggle this thing?”

“We could always shove it up your—” Crowley began.

“Hey.”

“I mean, you could.”

“Kinky,” Chelsea smirked from behind the older Winchester.

“Stop it,” Dean warned.

“You won't carry the bomb. You'll _be_ the bomb. I'm gonna take what's in there... and put it in here,” Rowena answered, placing her hand on Dean’s chest, “Once you get close to her, you press your fingers together like so— boom.”

Sam, Dean, and Chelsea looked at her and each other in distress before Dean gathered his composure and nodded, “Okay.”

“Woah! Hold it! _Not_ okay!” Chelsea interjected, “Seriously!? _Another_ suicide mission!? What the hell is wrong with you two!?” Chelsea waved her arms dramatically at both Winchesters.

“Chelsea…”

“No! Why can’t we just grenade launch it at her face?  Or—or slingshot it at her, or… I don’t know, anything else?  Why do you have to play the martyr? _AGAIN_!? Hell, why not just put the damn thing in Chuck? He’s already dying and that way no one else has to be sacrificed.” Chuck gave the raving woman an incredulous look, “I’m sorry Chuck, but you know I’m right.”

“Because she won’t let him anywhere near her without finishing off the job, Chelsea,” Dean stated sternly with a sigh, “I’m the only one who can get anywhere near enough to her—”

"Because of your _'special bond_ ’ that is total and utter crap because she’s making something out of leftover magic from the Mark of Cain,” Chelsea spat.

"Look, we don't have time to argue about this Chelsea. I'm not gonna play this game with you.  We don't have a choice.  The world is ending, and we have to do whatever we can to stop it.  Now I don't care whether you like it or not, but this is what _has_ to be done.  So, either you’re with us, or you can stay out of the way.”

Dean drew himself to his full height and stared down at Chelsea stone-faced.  His jaw was set and his resolve unbending; there was no way Chelsea would win this fight.  Chelsea could feel her heart sink down to her stomach.  This was going to be it, and nothing she said or did would talk the seasoned hunter out of it.  Chelsea blinked a few times before slumping her shoulders and lowering her gaze in submission, fighting the stinging sensation in her eyes.  Instead of saying anything more, she swung wide around Dean and marched down the Bunker halls.

The moment he heard the echo of her footsteps die off down the halls, Dean let out a heavy breath.  He figured she would have some sort of opinion on the whole thing but sincerely hoped that she would stay with them until the end.  He felt his chest constrict slightly at the thought of her refusing to be with him but forced himself to shake off the feeling.  There was work to be done.

“What’s the end of the world without a little lover’s quarrel,” Crowley commented.

Sam took a pensive step towards his brother, “Dean…”

“Shut-up. Let’s get this over with.”

Rowena nodded and began the incantation over the bomb in her outstretched hand.  Castiel stared at the archway where Chelsea disappeared to for a moment before turning his attention back to his friend. Rowena pushed her free hand towards the bomb, which surged a beam of bright, white light into Dean’s chest.  After a moment or so, the light and bomb had both disappeared, and Dean was hunched over on the floor in pain.

“Dean, are you okay? How do you feel?”

“Like my insides just got flame-broiled. Is that normal?”

“Sweetie, we're so far past normal,” Rowena responded sympathetically, “You've got about an hour, maybe a wee bit more, then you're literally a walking, ticking, time bomb.”

With that, everyone made their way to the garage to head out, though Castiel made a quick detour down the halls, looking for Chelsea.  When he found her, she was sitting in Deans room, head hung, and expression obscured as thick, brown locks fell around her face.  Quietly, the angel stepped into the room and sat down next to her on the edge of the bed.  No words were exchanged for a breath or two—Castiel just sat there in quiet understanding.

After a little while, he finally spoke up, “Sam and Dean told me a lot about you. About how you got here and how you met. They think very highly of you." Chelsea sniffed in response and peaked at him through her hair.  Her eyes had redness to them but were surprisingly dry, like she was doing everything in her power not to let the dam break. "Dean is not someone to let a lot of people in. He's very… well, he can be cold, but caring. And he does indeed have a temper, sometimes saying things that he regrets and other times not saying what he truly wants to.  Patience is best when dealing with him.”

Castiel gave her a knowing look, matching her gaze.  Chelsea pressed her lips together and nodded her head in silent acknowledgment, absorbing what the angel had to say.  She couldn't speak, not quite yet, or else that levee of emotion she was holding back would shatter.  Chelsea knew she shouldn't have gotten so attached, that something like this always happens to the infamous Winchesters. But she couldn't help it; somehow, though the everyday happenings, the hunts, and the hours of musical debates Chelsea found herself having grown horribly attached to the older Winchester.  And now he was going to go away, just like everyone else she ever cared about.

“I can’t do this, Cas.  I can’t send him off to his death with a smile,” she rasped out quietly.

“No.  Neither can I. But he needs us to be there with him.”

“He doesn’t need me.  He has you, and Sam—”

“And he wants you to be there.  No matter how much it hurts, Dean needs all three of us to bid him farewell.  To support him and make the goodbye just a little bit easier,” Castiel encouraged.  He knew this would be the end of Dean Winchester, but he also knew that Dean had been struggling with these developing feelings for the woman beside him.  Sam had filled him in on how Dean and Chelsea were with each other, admitting that he wished that one of them had made a move weeks ago.  But Cas saw it for himself firsthand on that car ride with Dean earlier that day.  Dean had been reserved when it came to having feelings for women, especially since everything with Lisa had gone horribly wrong.  Castiel was just grateful that his friend got to experience a little bit of happiness with someone new.

Chelsea stood up suddenly with a huff, wiping her palms on her jeans and making her way to the door, "Come on. We've got a hunter to send off."

When Castiel and Chelsea reached the garage, Crowley and Rowena were already gone, most likely having teleported to ground zero.  Sam was helping Chuck get into the back seat of baby and Dean was standing at the driver door. He immediately perked up when he saw Chelsea walk in. He desperately wanted to talk to her one more time before they set out.

“Chels…”

Without a word, she climbed into the back seat next to Chuck, eyes not meeting Dean's.  She was still upset and couldn't bring herself to talk to the hunter just yet.  Dean let out a disappointed sigh before climbing into the driver's seat and heading out to Greenville Cemetery, to the grave of Mary Winchester.

The graveyard, though beautifully maintained and lush, did nothing to help the solemn mood that hovered over them. Even Crowley and Rowena seemed somber despite their constantly fluctuating relationship with the Winchesters.  Dean was saying his goodbyes to his brother and Cas, hugging them for what everyone assumed would be the last time. At the trunk of the Impala, Chelsea stood away from the group, almost afraid to look at the emotional scene.  She chewed on the inside of her cheek in an effort to keep the tears and emotions at bay. It was a losing battle, especially when Dean came and stood in front of her, boot tips meeting the tips of her converse and hands buried in his pockets.

“Please don’t do this to me again, sweetheart… I barely made it through the last time you didn’t talk to me.”

Dean's voice was ragged but soft. The situation was finally sinking in, and all the goodbyes were taking their toll.  Chelsea finally looked up at the green-eyed hunter.  He looked worn out and held so much sadness in those eyes she had come to adore.

“I can’t send you off with a smile Dean,” she choked out, “I hate this, and I wish…” Chelsea shook her head, unable to finish what she wanted to say.

_'I wish I had a little bit more time to spend with you.'_

Dean nodded slightly, “Yeah. Me too.” Dean gently pulled Chelsea in for a hug, which she melted into.  Burying her face into his shoulder, the dam broke, and tears began flowing freely yet quietly.  Dean gently rested his cheek against her hair, reveling in the feeling of having her in his arms, albeit under less than desirable circumstances. Pulling away slightly, Dean cupped her face with one of his hands, warm but calloused, and leaned in and kissed her.

Chelsea reveled in the feeling of his lips on hers.  They were slightly chapped but warm, soft, and oh-so-comforting.  How bittersweet that the one time they kiss, it was a kiss goodbye.  Dean molded his mouth to hers, never wanting to let go but knowing that time was short. When Dean finally broke away, Chelsea couldn't help but chase after the sensation before opening her eyes.

“I need you to be there for Sammy, okay?” he asked quietly as his thumb gently rubbed over her cheek. Chelsea could only nod in agreement, tears still streaming down her face. “That’s my girl.”

Dean gave her one more firm but steady kiss before letting go and finally walking away to face Amara.  Chelsea suddenly felt incredibly empty and unsettlingly cold as she watched the steadfast hunter walk away to certain death.  Wrapping her arms around herself, Chelsea silently wept for Dean Winchester.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo!!! Chapter 18!!! Only 2 chapters left folks!!!!! Hope y'all enjoyed the ride so far!!

Chelsea's eyes opened slowly.  Her head was heavy and pounding, arms sore as they hung above her head in chains.  Why were they above her head?  Her left shoulder hurt the most.  Dried blood and a dirty white bandage covered a wound that she simply could not remember getting.

Eventually, everything came into focus.  She was in a dark, damp basement under someone's house.  The floor was dirt and stone, and there was an old broken sink next to her with broken glass scattered below.  Sam was chained to a chair, unconscious, clothes soaked with dirt and sweat and his shoes oddly missing.

“Sam? Sam!” She called out to the hunter, her voice dry and cracked.  Sam, however, remained unconscious and unmoving. “What the hell—?”

_'Oh wait, I remember now…'_

* * *

-Earlier-

With Dean having left to go face off with Amara, the remaining group headed off to a local bar to wait everything out.   Inside, the bar was clean but unassuming; it looked more like an office break-room than a liquor establishment. The lights were off overhead, and the blinds pulled shut—no one was around save for their rag-tag group.  Sam helped Chuck settle on the red leather booth along the far wall while Rowena and Crowley seated themselves at the bar.  Cas placed a gentle hand on Chelsea's shoulder, pulling her out of the haze she was in and led her to one of the center tables by the pool table.

Crowley and Rowena talked quietly amongst themselves while Sam, Chelsea, and Castiel watched various news reports for any signs of Dean’s success.  Sam was growing increasingly restless and after a while went back to check on Chuck.  He had turned away for only a moment to get him a glass of water, but when Sam turned around, God was gone.

“Guys!” Sam called, putting everyone on high alert. Suddenly, bright sunlight started to stream through the cracks in the blinds.  Wasting no time, Sam, Chelsea, Cas, Rowena, and Crowley all rush outside and look towards the once again steady sun.

“He did it,” Crowley sighed in relief.

Rowena marveled at the sight, “He bloody did it.”

“And Dean?” Cas asked, turning towards Sam and Chelsea.  Sam swallowed heavily as the implications settled in.  Chelsea stared blankly at the sky, feeling a numbness settle in at the idea that Dean Winchester was officially dead.  Sam quietly put an arm around her shoulder and held her firmly to his side, allowing her to lean against him and once again silently weep.

When they returned to the bunker later, Chelsea followed behind Sam and Castiel with a heavy heart. “Sam, I'm so sorry. If you want to talk... I'm here if you need anything," the angel consoled his friend as they descended the iron stairs in the war room.

“Hello, hello,” a feminine voice rang out.  Underneath the library archway stood a tall, thin, blonde woman.  She was dressed neatly and stood poised before them.  Without warning, she placed her hand on a bloody sigil painted on the archway and Castiel was blasted away.

“Cas!” Sam and Chelsea both reached for their guns, but the mystery woman was prepared.

“Don't. Sam Winchester,” the woman commanded in a posh British accent, “Toni Bevell. Men of Letters, London Chapter-house. Oh, you won't have heard of me—us. We're very traditional. Keep out of the way, keep to our studies.”

“You, um... What?” Sam stuttered in confusion, exchanging glances with Chelsea.

“They sent me to take you in. Both of you.”

“To take us in?” Chelsea questioned.

“Assuming the world didn't end, and— Yay.”

“Look, lady—"

Toni interrupted Sam, “We've been watching you, Sam. What you've done, the damage you've caused—archangels, Leviathans, the Darkness, and now, well— the old men have decided enough's enough. I mean, let's face it, Sam. You're just a jumped-up hunter playing with things you don't understand and doing more harm than good. And you,” she turned her attention towards Chelsea, “Are an absolute enigma that we have been most keen in studying.  A woman struck by lightning and transported here from an alternate universe? You are a fascinating specimen, though admittedly damaged. Now, where's Dean?”

Chelsea scowled at the woman as Sam spoke, “Dead. Listen, lady. I don't know who the hell you are or what the hell you want—" he began, taking a step forward.  Toni turned her gun back on the hunter.

“Stop.”

“Put the gun down,” Sam commanded, still walking forward.

“I said stop.”

“You and I both know you're not gonna pull the trigger,” Sam responded haughtily, smirking at the British agent.  Chelsea could feel her heart jump into her throat; Sam was being brazen and taking a gamble with both their lives.  Chelsea could attempt to pull out her gun—challenge the unwelcome intruder.  However, she was admittedly not the fastest shot in the world and could definitely do with some practice in the firing range.

Suddenly, Toni fired the gun and piercing Sam's knee, easily taking him to the ground.  Before Chelsea could react, Toni fired a second round, this time blasting through Chelsea's shoulder. Slamming into the stair railing behind her, Chelsea crumpled to the ground as searing hot pain shot through her.  Toni gracefully stepped forward and hit Sam across the temple with the butt of the gun, knocking him unconscious.  Chelsea attempted to crawl away, but the long-legged woman quickly caught up to her, kicking her in the head and knocking her out as well.

* * *

Chelsea groaned as it all came flooding back to her, head still throbbing.  The chains her long enough so that her feet touched the floor, though just barely, giving no relief to her aching arms and back. Chelsea swore to herself that if she ever got out of the chains, she would kick the pompous British woman’s ass.

Without warning, the door at the top of the cellar stairs creaked open, and Lady Toni Bevell descended the rickety wooden steps with a bucket in her hands. “Oh good, you’re finally awake.  You slept through all the exciting bits; I must say.”

“Bite me,” Chelsea spat.

"No thank you. But I do know someone who would be interested," Toni dismissed as she made her way to where Sam was bound and threw water from the bucket into Sam’s face, startling him awake. “Good morning, Sam. Let's start again, shall we? Take our time. I've cleared my calendar. I would like names and locations of every Hunter... the passcodes to each and every Men of Letters database held in the bunker, and then – oh, yes – let's do discuss your relationship with the demon Ruby.”

Before anything could begin, the phone on the table with various torture devices began to ring.  Mildly annoyed, Toni answered the call, “Mick.”

Chelsea glanced over at Sam, catching his gaze and giving him a silent nod.  Sam shook out his hair in an attempted to get the drenched locks out of his face, though it didn’t do much good.

“I have Sam Winchester and the girl. He's close to breaking. Just leave me be," Toni stated sternly into the phone, and she slowly paced around the table.  Whoever this Mick person was, she was uninterested in talking to him. However, suddenly she stood stock still, and her jaw tightened.  Whatever news she received was not good.  Hanging up the phone, Toni quickly made her way back up the stairs and slammed the cellar door, leaving Chelsea and Sam alone once again.

“Dude. What the _hell_ is going on!?”

“So, you’ve been out for a while,” Sam began calmly, “she’s been torturing me for information on the American hunters and our bunker.”

“Is—is that what happened to your...” Chelsea glanced down to Sam’s feet, which were dirty, bloody, and horribly burned on the sides and soles.

“Yeah.”

“Sam…”

"Look, I've been trying to get her to let you go, but apparently they want to study you. They’ve been keeping tabs on everything you do ever since you got here and have been watching Dean and me for years.”

“I am _not_ some high school science project,” Chelsea hissed, wincing in pain as she accidentally tugged the chains.

"Our only option right now is to stay strong and not let her get to us. She's already tried forcibly getting into my head using a spell. We just have to hold out until Cas can find us.”

Just then the cellar door opened once more, with the British Men of Letters agent waiting atop the steps.  Chelsea and Sam glared at her indignantly.

“Screw yourself,” Sam seethed.  Toni then reached over and dragged Dean into view, bound and gagged. “Dean.”

Chelsea's breath caught at the sight of the older Winchester, and a wave of relief washed over her.  Dean was supposed to be dead, thought to have blown up God's sister and himself with a magic bomb of souls.  Yet, there he was, unfortunately, bound before them.

“I'm as happy to see him as you are, 'cause while you may be able to withstand my snapping apart your body joint by joint, can you watch it happen to Dean?”

Dragging Dean down the stairs with her, Toni took him over to a second hook near Chelsea and chained him up.  While he was chained arms up in a similar manner to her, he had the luxury of the chain being hung more loosely, allowing him to slouch a bit.  Turning back to her table of torture tools, Toni settled on the brass knuckles.  With a stern posture, she walked back over to Dean and punched him squarely on the cheekbone.

“Passcodes, Sam. Not yet?” She looked over her shoulder at Dean, “Anything to add?”

“No. No, I just came by for some tea and a beating,” Dean chided.

Toni set the brass knuckles back down on the table and picked up her cup of tea, “Really? See, I thought you might be on for a little chat about your mate, Benjamin Lafitte. I'm sorry. You called him Benny. You know, the vampire whom you released from Purgatory and befriended." She was met with silence from both the Winchesters and Chelsea, the trio scowling at her in disdain. “I see. Well... the English are nothing if not patient.”

Setting down her tea, Toni dawned the brass knuckles yet again and strolled back towards Dean, who tensed in anticipation.  However, she stopped short as an idea suddenly struck her and looked between Dean and Chelsea.  Reeling back, she swung hard, slugging Chelsea in the jaw.  The force caused her to swing back on the chains, crying out in pain from both her shoulder and the gunshot wound.

“Chelsea!”

“HEY! NO! She is off-limits!” Dean boomed angrily, reaching out to her with his knee and stopping her swinging.

“My orders were to capture and question her. She is to be studied. As long as I don’t inflict anything too permanent, we should be fine.”

It was hours of beatings and cuttings, but neither the Winchesters nor Chelsea would give in to the torture.  Sam and Dean had to admit they were pleasantly surprised that Chelsea was holding her own against Toni.  However, ideally, she never would have had to endure the British beatdown.  When Toni finally left them alone sometime later, they all breathed a collective sigh of temporary relief.

“Dean,” Sam called out to his brother.

“Hey.”

“I thought you were dead.”

“I'm not sure that I'm not,” Dean stated with a subtle shake of his head.

“So?”

“I'll tell you. I'll tell you everything, okay? First off, who's Angry Spice?”

“She, uh – she's – she's Men of Letters. Uh, British Men of Letters,” Sam answered, shifting slightly in the chair he was bound to. Chelsea hung pathetically next to Dean, head resting heavily on her uninjured shoulder and bicep.

“Is that a thing? What the hell? Aren't we supposed to be on the same team?”

Once again, the cellar door swung open, and Toni Bevell descended upon them.  The time in between the waves of torture seemed to be shortening.  This time, however, she appeared fed-up with the three of them.

“Oh, God,” Dean mumbled.

“Gentlemen. So, to recap – you live in the Men of Letters bunker, awash in the world's greatest collection of occult knowledge, and yet you know 'nothing.'  "

“Right. What a waste," Dean, mocked with a chuckle before coughing.

“It seems you apes have never read a single book. The Men of Letters has a long tradition of intellectual excellence. In London, we've undertaken exhaustive studies of even the most arcane topics," she reached down at the table and grabbed an ice pick-like instrument. Dean and Sam looked warily at each other while Chelsea recoiled towards the older Winchester.

“For example, parts of the body most sensitive to intense pain,” stalking over to Dean, she grabbed his face in demonstration, “The eardrum. Decaying tooth. Below the belt, of course. And my favorite – under the eyelid,” Dean grunted as her grip tightened.  Chelsea began thrashing pathetically in her chains while Sam struggled with his bonds in the chair. “Did you know it's possible to die from pain?”

Dean stared straight ahead, preparing himself for the strike when the sound of a gun-cocking caught their attention. Toni froze and turned behind her to face the source of the noise.  At the base of the steps, with gun drawn and aimed, stood Mary Winchester.

“Get away from my boys.”

“Mom?” Sam uttered in disbelief.

“Holy Fuck,” Chelsea rasped, eyes wide.

Mary walked towards the table of torture tools, gun still pointed at Toni Bevell.  Grabbing a set of keys, she made her way over to where the British operative held her eldest son.

“Drop it. Ground,” she commanded. Toni refused to move, tight-jawed and eyes locked with Mary. Unsatisfied, Mary smacks her so hard that she falls to the ground. “That's the ground.”

Handing Dean the keys, she stared down at the British agent while Dean worked on Chelsea.  Dean caught Chelsea as she fell and pulled her into a solid but brief embrace before moving to take care of Sam. Reaching up, Toni knocked the gun away causing it to fire and narrowly miss Chelsea’s face. An all-out fight broke out, with Toni surprisingly holding her own.  She smacked the brothers away, kicked Chelsea in the stomach, and finally punched Mary in the throat and stomach before throwing her into the wall behind her.  However, Mary was not down for the count.

The two of them continued fighting, Chelsea in a heap on the floor and winded, until Dean grabbed the gun and fired a warning a shot in the air. Snatching up a piece of broken glass from the floor, Toni slit her palm and held it up just as Dean turned the gun on her.

“Xi,” at the spoken word, Mary suddenly began gasping horribly, holding her throat and falling to her knees.  Chelsea crawled forward and held Mary as she suffocated.

Dean stalked forward threateningly, “Kill the spell now. I'm not kidding.”

“Shoot me, and your mother has no chance,” Dean glanced over at Mary, who continued to gasp for air, “The gun.”

Sam and Chelsea watched as dean un-cocked the gun and handed it to Toni. Seizing the opportunity, Dean punched her hard in the face, knocking her unconscious. Instantly, Mary began to breathe normally again.

“It's okay. She was using a Chinese mind-control technique. Hard to do when you're unconscious. Turns out this ape did read a book or two,” Dean explained before continuing to unshackle his brother.

“Well played,” another voice called.  The Winchesters and Chelsea turned to see a sharply dressed man at the bottom of the stairs with Castiel standing a few steps up, watching him. “What you were told is basically true. We were keen on knowing about the two of you, seeing as you seem to be partially carrying on the Men of Letters' work here now that the American chapter is defunct.”

As he spoke, Toni came to and pulled herself off the floor.  Dean pulled Chelsea away from her and against his left flank, not going unnoticed by Mary.

“So, you sic your attack dog on us to what, say hi?”

“Well, part of our group suspect some kind of malfeasance amongst you American Hunters. No argument – Lady Bevell went too far. I deeply apologize,” Sam shook his head incredulously at the British man before them, “She'll face the consequences in London.”

“I'll tell you what, why don't you take a walk, and she can face those consequences right here and now?”

Mick shook his head in disagreement, “She's ours. We'll take care of her. Now, I'm here to extend an olive branch. We want to work with you.”

“Let me ask you a question, uh, Mick is it? Why would we believe any of this?” Sam asked in disdain.  Their first introduction to the British Men of Letters was anything but pleasant.

“Lads...if I wasn't sincere, if I meant you harm, there's a dozen ways I could've come in here and taken you all prisoner instead of being unarmed. Not to mention I powered down all the wardings in this shack so your attack dog could come in. I reckon you could finish me off without breaking a sweat. Am I right?”

“I don't sweat under any circumstances,” Chelsea shut her eyes and pressed her lips together in an effort not to laugh at the angel’s comment.  She wouldn’t tell if he was trying to be macho or was genuine but regardless, it was not the time for laughter.

“My number,” Mick handed his business card backward to Castiel who looked it over with interest, “Take your time, cool down, and just think it over. And what have you got to lose, except your worst nightmares?”


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK. So I need to insert a warning here. This chapter... has smut. PLEASE BE NICE TO ME I AM SO SORRY IF IT SUCKS IT'S MY FIRST TIME ACTUALLY WRITING SMUT AND IT IS VERY INTIMIDATING IT STRESSED ME OUT SO MUCH I'M SO SORRY FOR YELLING. So yeah... I'm really sorry if it's complete and utter shit... So yeah! enjoy! Also, next chapter is the final chapter so woohoo!!!

When they returned to the bunker, and after Cas healed everyone, Chelsea slipped away to her room for a bit.  She wanted to give the boys a bit of alone time with their mom, though she had to admit, she felt a pang of jealousy.  Chelsea lost her own mother when she was still young, with the only real memories coming from pictures.  Perhaps that was why she was able to bond with Sam and Dean so well—they all lost their parents.  Chelsea couldn't help but wish, however, that she had the same opportunity that the Winchesters did in getting a second chance.

Out at the map table in the war room, the three Winchesters were wrapping up their first dinner together.  They had ordered take out from Sandy’s chicken and, much to Dean’s delight, Mary nabbed a pie.

“Sam. You keep looking at me like I'm going to explode.”

Sam chuckled nervously, “I'm sorry.”

"Oh," Dean moaned happily as he dished himself a healthy serving of pie.

“But what do we think? Are we buying that Brit's whole "Let's be friends" routine?”

“No. No way.”

“No. Mmm,” Dean moaned happily as he started shoveling pie into his mouth.

Mary chuckled at the sight, “Could you eat that any faster?”

“No. No, I cannot,” Dean mumbled happily through a mouthful of food. Mary couldn’t help but smile at the sight of her son while Sam waved his hand dismissively.

“Well, we should call the Internet and find out as much as we can about these people,” Sam and Dean both stared at her a moment, “Did I say that right?”

“So close.”

“Yeah, it was close.”

“You want any?” Dean asked his brother, ready to strike again at the pie before him.  He still had bits of purple filling smeared at the corners of his mouth.

“No. Uh, not now.”

Dean shook his head excitedly and was just about to shove another forkful into his mouth before their mother spoke up, “What about that girl? She didn’t eat anything, and I haven’t seen her since we got back.”

Dean froze instantly, eyes wide.  He had been so caught up in having a family dinner that he didn't even think about going to check on her.  Dean set down his fork and stared at his pie contemplating.  On the one hand, _pie_! But on the other hand, Chelsea had immediately reclused and pulled away from them.  Sure, she could be a little moody at times, but Dean thought for sure she would have been eager to spend time with them since he didn’t actually die.

Sam noticed his brother's pause and decided to take over the conversation, "That's Chelsea. She's been staying with us since November. She’s a-uh character.”

“But why didn’t she eat with us?”

“That’s a good question,” Sam thought for a moment.  He honestly didn’t know why, although if anyone did know, it would be his brother, “Dean? Thoughts?”

“What? Why me?”

“I mean you two do kinda have something going.”

Mary perked up at Sam’s comment, “What?”

“What?! No! It was one kiss!” Dean stammered, cheeks turning a faint shade of pink.

“Actually, it was two and an intense hug goodbye, not that any of us saw it happen,” Sam smirked at his brother’s embarrassment.

“I _knew_ it!” Mary stated triumphantly.

“What?” both Sam and Dean turned to their mother.

“I saw the way you acted around her back at the cellar, how you were so protective of her,” Mary smirked knowingly, “It’s ok sweetheart. It’s a perfectly normal, natural thing for feelings to grow between a man and woman who are close.”

“Ok. No. Stop. No.” Dean pushed away from the table, grabbed the remaining bit of pie, and walked away. Sam and Mary couldn’t help but laugh at his reaction.

“OK, so. Tell me everything, Sam.”

* * *

Later that evening, Chelsea stretched as she stood up from the bed.  She hadn’t meant to doze off but considering everything that had happened the past few days she certainly needed it. Slipping into her lounge clothes, Chelsea shuffled out into the hallway in search of food, her stomach growling like a hungry bear.  Everything was quiet as she moseyed along, everyone else most likely fed and relaxing in their respective bedrooms.

When she reached the kitchen and rounded the center island, she was surprised to see Dean sitting on the floor.  He had a box of pictures next to him, looking at each photograph one-by-one as he sipped a beer. At first, Chelsea was unsure whether she should leave, but her curiosity got the better of her.

“Dean? What are you doing?”

Dean almost choked on his beer at the sudden noise.  He hadn’t been expecting anyone to show up in the kitchen that late at night. Looking up, Dean was greeted by one of his favorite sights.  Chelsea had on one of his old pairs of sweats, now with bits of dry paint on them, slung low on her hips.  The long-sleeved, grey Henley clung a little tighter to her curves than before.  Now that all her ailments, deficiencies, and muscular problems had been cured thanks to Chuck, Chelsea looked even more beautiful than he thought previously. Dean gave her a good once-over and licked his lips in hunger when he caught sight of a small peak of skin just below her shirt.

Recovering from his thoughts, Dean answered quickly, “Yeah. I’m just. Ya know…” Dean tossed the pictures back in the box next to him while Chelsea sat next to him.

“A bit weird, huh?” She mused, lightly thumbing over a few pictures in the box.  They were all pictures of Mary and Dean from when he was little.  Some had John Winchester in them, others had Sam.

“Yeah a little bit,” Dean agreed as he took a sip of his beer.

“The reality not meeting the expectation?”

Dean thought for a moment before answering, “No. Not entirely. More like I’m not sure how to deal with this. This is definitely uncharted territory, even for us.”

“Hmmm…” 

Chelsea had to admit that the jealousy was still there, nagging at her.  However, she wasn’t about to admit that to Dean.  She didn’t notice how intensely Dean was staring at her, absorbing her features while he thought back to the after-dinner conversation with his mother and brother.

“So, why didn’t you join us for dinner?”

Chelsea looked up in surprise, not expecting the question, “Oh, I just figured it would be good for you guys to all have a family dinner together.” Technically she wasn’t lying, Chelsea just hoped that Dean wouldn’t press the issue further. Naturally, he did.

“You’re family. Could’ve eaten with us.”

“No,” Chelsea answered quietly, “She’s _your_ mom, Dean. You guys should get to have some alone time with her.”

Dean watched her momentarily. “Ya know… You’ve never really told me about your mom. Well, aside from what you shouted at me.”

"You remember that huh…" Chelsea bowed her head in shame.  It was not one of her finer moments and, even though she and Dean had patched things up and moved on, she was still embarrassed about it.

Dean shifted closer a bit and swung his arm around her, pulling against him, and passed her his beer, “Tell me about her.”

Chelsea took the beer gingerly and twirled the bottle in her fingers a moment. What could she say about her mother? Hell, what did she even remember about her?

“Well… for starters, she was also a painter, Chelsea began as she rubbed her thumbs over the label. “She was a stay-at-home mom and would just paint all the time. Letting me set up in a corner near her. I don’t think I ever remember a time she didn’t have a bit of paint on her.”

“Sounds like someone else I know,” Dean chuckled.

"Chelsea smiled a bit at that, "Yeah. She had a horrible sweet tooth. Always kept a jar of Mike' n' Ikes in the kitchen and sunroom.”

They sat like that for a while, Chelsea talking and Dean listening as she spoke about her mom.  She told him about how they would go hiking at the state park and stargaze.  How her dad simply adored her to the moon and back. Finally, Chelsea told him the whole situation with how she died—complications during the pregnancy caused her to begin bleeding during her seventh month of pregnancy with Chelsea's younger sister.  By the time they got to the hospital, she was hemorrhaging badly, and they were possibly going to have to do a blood transfusion and emergency c-section.  In the end, her mother died of blood loss, and the baby suffocated.

Dean pulled her in for a tight hug and pressed his lips to her hair, rubbing her back in a soothing motion.  It was a subject Chelsea rarely talked about, a still open wound from her childhood. Wrapping her arms around the older hunter, she reveled in the warmth she felt radiating from him.

“I would offer to tell you about my mom, but I’m pretty sure you’ve already seen everything, Know-it-all.”

Chelsea laughed at Dean’s attempt to cheer her up, “Ya know, I came in here looking for food and found a depressed Winchester on the floor. I should be cheering you up.”

"You cheer me up plenty, sweetheart," Dean gave her a gentle squeeze, “You still hungry though? Cause I could always go for some food.”

“Do we even have anything here? I think it’s been a while since our last food run.”

“Uhhh… Then we’ll just hafta go grab something. C' mon."

Dean led her through the bunker, quietly sneaking past Sam’s room on their way to the garage.  They had to stop by Chelsea’s room for shoes and Dean’s for his keys.  Without so much as a word to their other two housemates, Dean and Chelsea took off into the warm, June night in search of something to eat.

The air was humid but sweet as they barreled down the Kansas back roads.  Windows down and classic rock blaring on the radio, Dean finally felt like he could breathe for the first time in years.  Sure, they still had the British Men of Letters to possibly contend with, but for now, they could relax.  Glancing to the passenger seat, Dean drank in the sight of Chelsea letting go.  Her head was hung back against the bench seat, eyes closed with a small smile gracing pink lips, her long, brown hair blowing wildly in the wind.  Dean had to admit, it took his breath away.

They stopped at a small roadside diner just outside Glen Elder, about 35 miles away from the bunker, not that either of them seemed to mind. Dean got the biggest plate of steak and eggs he could order, and Chelsea damn near ordered one of everything.  They laughed and traded stories and debated bands over the heap of food.  Chelsea savored the fact that she could now eat whatever she wanted without any sort of medical emergency threatening to ruin the mood. She told Dean about the time her dad got stuck on the fire truck cherry picker, and Dean told her about how he had to help Sam out of a tree after he got stuck trying to sneak out and see a movie.

By the time they left the diner, it was now three in the morning, but they were still wide awake. So, Dean, being full of ideas, drove them out to an open field not too far from the bunker, where they were hidden by trees but could still see the stars.  Dean pulled the cooler out the trunk while Chelsea sat up on Baby’s hood, soaking up the starlight.  It was honestly the best night out she had in years.

The pair laid against the Impala's windshield, Dean with his arm wrapped around Chelsea and her head resting on his shoulder. They sipped beers and chatted casually about various supernatural creatures and the different hunters in their lives. Chelsea admitted that Jody reminded her of her mom and that’s why she wanted to meet her so bad.  Dean promised to take her over to Sioux Falls sometime in the next few days, once they were sure his mom had gotten more acclimated to the bunker. Dean also finally explained to her what had gone down with Amara, resulting in Mary Winchester coming back from the dead.

“Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“Does _anything_ normal happen to you?”

Dean chuckled at the question, “I’ll get back to you on that.”

“Well, regardless, I’m glad you didn’t have to sacrifice yourself again,” She admitted, staring up at the rugged hunter.

“Yeah, you and me both, sweetheart,” Dean agreed and met her gaze.

The timing was just right, stars glistening above them as the sun slowly began to creep on the horizon. This time, Chelsea leaned in first, gently reaching up to press her lips to his. Dean met her partway, hand resting on her exposed waist where her shirt had rolled up while the other rubbed small, leisurely circles on her shoulder.  It didn’t take long for his tongue to tangle with hers, deepening the kiss as he rolled her onto her back.  The metal from the Impala's hood felt cool against her back, a stark contrast to the heat that was quickly building between them.

Dean, never once breaking the kiss, pulled Chelsea with him as he slid down the Impala’s hood. Scooping her into his arms, Dean carried Chelsea to the backdoor of his beloved car and pressed her against it momentarily. Chelsea could feel his rock-hard arousal against hard arousal against her inner thigh and groaned at the thought of it. Carding her fingers through his short, sandy hair, Chelsea rolled her hips as much as she could while pinned him and the car.

"Fuck," Dean groaned in pleasure as he let her slide down so he could get them in the back. While Chelsea climbed in, Dean already started getting to work on shedding his numerous layers. Dean crawled over to her as she scooted further along the backseat, trapped between the hunter and leather. He captured her lips in another searing kiss as his hand slid up her side and under her shirt to softly cup her breast. Dean let out another groan of pleasure at the realization that she wasn’t wearing a bra and dipped down to suck on her neck while his finger teased her sensitive nipple.

“Ohh," Chelsea arched up against him and grabbed a fistful of hair, earning a soft growl and roll of the hips from Dean. Chelsea could feel the heat all around her, and suddenly she wanted nothing more than to be completely naked. Shifting so she could remove her shirt, Chelsea let out a gasp of surprise the moment Dean latched on to her pert nipple.  He teased the sensitive bud while his hands gently kneaded the flesh above her waistband.

Growing impatient with a rapidly winding coil in her stomach, Chelsea reached down and clumsily undid Dean’s buckle. Dean ceased his ministrations and sat back a moment to properly undo his jeans and slide down her sweats so he could have better access. Pulling Chelsea, so her heat was flush with his straining cock, Dean gently massaged her clit with his thumb. Letting out a high-pitched moan, Chelsea arched her back again and rubbed herself against him, causing the hunter to growl low in his chest. Grabbing her hips, Dean rolled his hips against her and began to grid, causing a wet spot to pool on the front of her cotton panties.

The heat and build-up were driving her insane. It had been so long since Chelsea had been intimate with anyone and she was already about to burst at just the tease. She raked her nails lightly up and down Dean’s forearms, just enough to stir a bit of sensation.

“Dean… Please…” her voice came out raspy and desperate.

Dean smirked at her plea and captured her lips again, tongue thrusting deep in her mouth and tangling with her own.  He damn near took her breath away. Reaching down, Dean shoved his boxers to his knees and rid Chelsea of her now ruined underwear. Careful not crush her, Dean leaned forward on his elbows and gently teased her silken lips with the hot head of his cock. Already she was ridiculously wet and just aching for him to be inside.

Dean slowly pressed forward, one thick inch at a time. Chelsea threw her head back at the sensation and let out a deep, guttural moan of pleasure.  Her sounds alone were just about making him burst.

At first, Dean did the long, slow drag in and out of her velvety channel, savoring the feel of her tight pussy.  But Chelsea let him know quickly that she needed more, reaching down and squeezing the globes of his ass.  Suddenly the band snapped, and Dean cut loose, pounding into her with long but harsh thrusts of his cock.  He hit so deeply and fully that Chelsea swore he was punching her cervix; it was absolute bliss.

Dean could feel himself fast approaching the edge as he dragged his cock in and out of her tight channel. He wanted to make her come first and knew he wasn’t going to last. Shoving his hand between then, Dean started rubbing her clit rapidly and sucked on her neck, determined to get Chelsea to her orgasm.

"C' mon sweetheart. Come for me." Dean breathed against her throat, kissing and licking the space just above her shoulder.

Chelsea clung to him tightly, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and wrapping her legs around his waist. “Dean… YES! YES!” She cried out, the breath getting punched out of her.

Suddenly the coil broke, and Chelsea saw white, crying out as she came and clinging to Dean for fear life. The way her pussy abruptly constricted around his cock sent Dean spiraling after her. With a loud grunt, Dean final let go, shooting white-hot ropes of cum deep inside her. Collapsing, Dean pulled Chelsea tight against him and draped the blanket they kept in the backseat over their bodies.

The windows and rear windshield had completely fogged up despite the summer air. The sweat began to cool on their skin, and they lay in each other’s arms, Chelsea with her head on Dean's chest mindlessly tracing his freckles and Dean gently running his hands up and down her back. They were sore, spent, and blissfully content. For one night, everything was perfect.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me everyone. This chapter is a lot shorter and sugary sweet, but I figured a happy ending was in order. After last chapter, I felt like there wasn't really much to be said so I figured why not end it on a high note. I know I've really barreled through these last 4-5 chapters but I've finally gotten my mojo back and had a lot of spare time at work.
> 
> I decided to change my original ending for this series and would like to dedicate this one to my best friend, Riley. He's helped me by initially doing beta for this series, was there to help me push through the writer's block, and gave lots of suggestions along the way. Since this is being posted on his actually birthday, I would like to dedicate this one to him.

Chelsea slowly awoke later that morning in a state of pure contentment.  The sun was shining brightly overhead, and she was surrounded by warmth.  She could hear the steady beating of Dean's heart from where her head lay on his chest, enjoying the pure sensation of waking up in his arms.  Dean snored softly from under her, and she simply couldn't bring herself to pull away from the moment.  It wasn't much longer after that he woke up, however, stretching aching limbs and cracking his back.  The backseat of Baby wasn’t exactly the most comfortable place in the world, but the rest had been much needed.

Dean and Chelsea watched each other a moment, neither one of them saying a word but sharing a good morning kiss as he leaned down to her.  Shifting so that they were both laying on their sides, Dean continued his series of slow, lazy kisses, taking his time to savor the way her mouth tasted.  Chelsea gently dragged her fingers across the stubble on his cheek, enjoying the scratchy sensation in contrast to his soft lips. Eventually, the pair broke apart to catch their breaths, foreheads touching while she let out a contented sigh.

“We should probably head back soon.  Sam Winchester, Private Eye will probably figure out that we’re not there soon.”

Dean nodded his head in agreement, "Yeah. Alright. C'mon." Dean gave her another kiss, which turned into ten, making her giggle into his mouth when he flipped her onto her back.

“That’s not getting dressed,” Chelsea grinned.

“Mmmm... but it’s so much better, honey,” Dean kissed the spot just below her ear, causing Chelsea to let out a breathy sigh.  Soon he was slotting herself between her legs, erection heavy against her thigh.  Lining himself up, Dean slowly but smoothly slid into her already wet channel.

He didn’t rush or thrust into her the way he had hours before.  No, this time Dean took his time, rolling his hips at a deliciously languid pace, slowly building Chelsea up to her orgasm.  The entire time, Dean kept up his gentle barrage of kisses, peppering them along her jaw and cheek until he reached her lips again.  The drag of his thick cock against her velvety walls was delicious, and soon Chelsea could feel everything heat up and tighten, ready to burst.  It wasn't a huge dramatic thing—Chelsea came shaking with pleasure as she gasped out Dean's name.  He wasn't too far behind, reaching his own silent peak a few thrusts later while wrapping his arms around her tightly and burying his face into her neck.

The pair slowly let their breathing return to normal, simply holding each other. Eventually, they slid out of the backseat of the Impala and dressed.  It was one of those moments where Chelsea was grateful to have been wearing sweatpants.  Sliding into the front seat, Dean revved up the Impala and took them back to the bunker, with Chelsea perched at his side.  He slung an arm around her shoulders and let the mid-morning wind blow through the car, partially to help them wake up but also for the sake of airing it out so Sam or Mary wouldn’t find out what they had been up to all night.

When they pulled back into the bunker’s garage and made their way to the library, Dean could hardly keep his hands off Chelsea.  They were only halfway down the hall when he swung her around and pressed her against the wall, inciting giggles as he peppered kisses along her neck.  However, the pair had an audience to their antics.

“Well good morning to you too!”

Dean jumped slightly at the sound of his mother a few feet away, hot mug of coffee in her hands. Stepping back, Dean began to stutter a bit while looking between his smirking mother and his frozen companion. A crimson hue crept onto his face—Dean never got embarrassed when it came to his exploits, but this was his _mother_.

“I... This… Uh… I-It’s not what it looks like,” Dean wiped his hands on his jeans completely flustered.

“Oh? So, you two aren’t sneaking about like a pair of giddy teenagers?”

“That’s _exactly_ what this is!” Chelsea answered with a high-pitched voice, laughing awkwardly.  Dean whipped around and gave her a harsh, wide-eyed stare that silently told her to stop talking.

Mary lightly chuckled at the two of them before reaching her arm out, "Chelsea, what do you say you and I get to know each other a bit.  After all, from what I've heard it's not everyday someone can put my son in his place… Or get him riled up like you do.”

“Yeah! Okay!” Chelsea beamed stepping around Dean and taking Mary’s arm.

Dean stood there gawking at the two women he cared about most as they waltzed away chatting.  He could hear his mother asking Chelsea about herself, their voices echoing down the hall. In his entire life, Dean Winchester never would have imagined this scenario ever happening to him.  But he had to admit, he was thankful that he finally had the opportunity; something normal.

Chelsea made her way through the bunker with Mary, talking about her life and the boys. If anyone had told them that she would be doing this just seven months ago, she would have laughed in their face and asked what drugs they were on.  However, she couldn’t say she was disappointed.  Chelsea finally had a home, a safe place to live with people who cared.  She never felt happier, especially now that the situation with Amara had been diffused.  Despite the uncertain threat of the British Men of Letters, Chelsea wasn’t worried, knowing that whatever happened, the Winchesters would find a way.  And she would get to be there with them, happily at Dean’s side.


End file.
